


How to Navigate and Contemplate

by CallousHeartz



Series: How Time Decides [11]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: (except they aren't enemies in this part u gotta read HTD for that), (kind of?), (not much but worth mentioning), Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Moving In Together, Origin Story, Other, Sequel, Slice of Life, Smoking, Swearing, THE KILLJOYS ARE NOT MCR, i would strongly recommend reading my series How Time Decides first! this follows it directly, they are my own interpretations of the characters and practically OCs at this point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: he's only been out here a few months, but Fun Ghoul's part of a crew. and not just any crew - he's joined the infamous Killjoys, only the most wanted bunch of rebels in the zones.turns out he's still got a lot to learn, though; about the desert, about himself, and about a certain someone he once thought he'd never in a million years want to get to know.NOTE: this is a multichapter sequel to my oneshot series'How Time Decides'.





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> CW: description of smoking

"Where you been, then?" Ghoul inquires, hands in the pockets of his baggy old jeans and the grubby sole of his trainer resting flat against the equally grubby wall behind him.

Poison glances up as he shuts the car door - for a second, it seems he's almost taken aback at the sound of Ghoul's voice. Then he removes his sunglasses, hangs them off the collar of his black T-shirt, and perches on the threshold. 

The mid-morning sun highlights the tired circles beneath his eyes as he lounges back against the wall and plucks a half-empty pack of smokes out of his jacket, worn leather sleeves pushed up to his elbows (above all else, to show off the fierce sleeve of ink adorning his right arm.) He pops a cheap cigarette in his mouth and lights it, and around it he mutters,

"I been places."

As if that means _anything._

"Places?" 

Ghoul strolls over and sits down beside him, leaving notable space between them still. Reclined against the door frame and barely conscious of the fact he's doing so, he studies Poison; the long, sweaty scarlet ponytail between his shoulderblades, sticking to his jacket like PVA glue did the job. The lines and shadows of stress and exhaustion which work as one to age an otherwise young face. A face you'd assume has seen too much, and in too short a period of time. The way he holds his cigarette carelessly between scarred, scabbed, calloused fingers, flecks of black polish marking his filthy nails. Slowly, yet harshly, he exhales a smoke cloud, the scent alone bitter and gross enough to scorch the back of your throat. 

"Places," He repeats. Ice-blue eyes narrowing at whatever's ahead, he brings the cigarette up to his humourless mouth again, the lines around it deepening a little in a light almost-scowl. Then he finishes, stubs the smoke out on the rubber sole of his black combat boot, and discards it in the sand.

"You're always out places." Ghoul observes, no particular feeling towards the statement detectable in his voice. It's just the truth, after all - Poison knows it as well as he does. As well as _anyone_ does.

"Guess I am," Poison leans back against the doorframe. And he adds, his low, sandpaper voice dripping with casual mystery, "But aren't we all, in a sense?"

Ghoul's tempted to snort at that, initially. At how it sounds like he's just picked a line out of an old novel. But he quickly realises Poison isn't trying to be funny - his expression is stony as ever, not a quirk of a smile on his lips nor in his eyes.

"Guess that's one way of looking at it, yeah," Ghoul mumbles, and he reaches up to scratch at his scruffy jaw as silence falls between them. 

He glances ahead, like Poison's doing, but he still can't tell what the guy's so fixated on; nothing but the usual stretch of desert for miles. He finally takes his hands out of his pockets - just to wipe his sweaty palms off on his jeans, though. Then he returns them. He clears his throat,

"You gonna head indoors at any point, then?" He asks, cutting off the silence before it can extend and grow any more awkward. 

Poison keeps his eyes on the horizon, and replies in barely more than a murmur,

"You can."


	2. How to Get An Upgrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghoul's settling in, and it's about time he changed up his look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder that this fic is a follow-up to my series _['How Time Decides'](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1223423)_ so you may want to read those oneshots first if you're not familiar with them - _please read the series notes beforehand!_

Fun Ghoul hasn't changed his hairstyle in four fucking years.

And right at this moment, in the smudgy glass of the mirror hanging on a bathroom wall which he's not quite sure he can call his own - not _yet,_ at least - it's as if that fourteen year old is watching him. That fiery spark still resides in his dark eyes, but it's safe, now: no longer a "cause for concern." He's got the same dimples in his pudgy cheeks when he smiles; he's doing that a lot more these days.

And then, of course, there's the hair. 

For years it'd been the subject of disdain, that hair. Disapproving head shakes, wrinkled noses. Unsolicited advice; every adult within a three metre radius constantly ready to remind him that his appearance didn't meet the standards required, that he'd soon be in _trouble_ if he didn't get his act together. And every time, he'd all but flash his middle fingers, brush them off, and tousle up his choppy jet black fringe 'til he could barely see through it.

Ghoul had never been afraid of _trouble._ How could he possibly have been, when stirring it up was his one greatest aim? 

But Ghoul isn't fourteen anymore.  
He isn't in Battery City, doodling on his white schoolbag, or ripping holes in the knees of his smart trousers anymore (then finding them stitched up impeccably again every morning.) He isn't hiding in friends' basements anymore, playing video games they shouldn't have access to while George's shitty pop punk playlist comes through the fuzzy speaker of an old touchscreen device they _also_ shouldn't have access to.  
No. He isn't just 'rebelling' anymore.He's living the _life_ of rebellion, in the very place of its birth.  
And all of a sudden, the carefree, scruffy, 2006-esque fringe which has stuck by his side (but more noticably, to his forehead and roughly a quarter of his face) through the toughest of his teen years isn't enough.

Ghoul needs an upgrade.

Letting the door hit the wall outside, Ghoul saunters out of the bathroom and into the main part of the diner, where he collapses into a booth and announces to no one in particular (besides the broken ceiling fan, maybe):

"Fuck it. I'm gonna shave my head."

He gets a response, and he's pretty certain it isn't from the ceiling fan.

"Sick."

Ghoul sits up to find the source of the reply lounging across the table. 

It's none other than Jet Star, who languidly drops his magazine - one with a photo of a vintage racecar on the glossy cover - onto the scratched-up table top, then pushes back his hair (the side that's a thick tangle of dark, jaw-length curls, that is, because the other side's shaved to reveal multiple kinda painful-looking ear piercings.) He sits back in his seat like he's studying Ghoul. Considering him.  
Ghoul catches Jet and Kobra doing that pretty often, to be fair; must be weird having a new guy in the crew after six years. 

"Just gonna go for it, then? All in one, like..."  
Jet imitates the sound of an electric clipper as he mimes shaving a thick streak down the centre of his head. Then he puts down his imaginary tool and looks at the boy in front of him.

"Uh..." 

In truth, Ghoul hadn't at all considered how he was gonna go about shaving his head. He'd made the decision to do it in two seconds flat. But he'd  
already said it out loud, and it wasn't like he could just press rewind. No, it's official now, and Ghoul sticks to his word. _No going back, motherfucker._

He nods,  
"Yeah - yeah guess so. All in one," He picks up the invisible electric clipper Jet left on the table and mimes the same action, though he doesn't bother to imitate the sound, and nods again as he drops it into thin air. "Yeah,"

He'd intended to sound confident, but there must've been a shred of doubt lingering in his tone because then Jet arches a dark, sculpted brow and says,

"If you regret it, you always got the option to grow it back. But you got the idea in your head now, kid - gotta jus' go for it,"

As if trying to delay ultimate agreement a little longer, Ghoul scoffs at the nickname Jet gave him.

"Dude, I'm probably the same age as you," He says. The words come out a little more indignant than he'd meant for them to.

Jet grins,  
"Just teasin ya'. Wait here, I'll be back in a sec," 

Jet stands up from his booth and saunters out of the room.  
He returns quickly, and when he does, he's holding an item in each of his hands. He sets the first on the table between them as he sits down. It's an electric clipper; small, blue, and somewhat intimidating. The second is a compact pair of scissors.

"This," Jet pokes the device almost affectionately with a fingernail painted the same sky blue, "Is my fuckin' baby. Guard it with your life, and I want it back the second you're done with it."

"You sound like Poison talkin' about the damn car," A voice comes from the doorway, and Jet and Ghoul look up to see Kobra peeking round the door, curiousity in his wide eyes.

"I'm tryna teach new boy a valuable lesson, Kobra!" Jet replies, swatting his hand in his direction, "Scram."

As Kobra flips him off with two hands and runs away down the corridor, Jet calls out,

"And as if Poison would let anyone else touch the damn car!"

Ghoul snorts as Jet turns his attention back to him, 

"Fucking right. I've had that experience firsthand,"

"Only heard that story from his perspective," Jet replies, before adding playfully, "Gotta say, you _do_ match the 'fuckin' emo piece'a shit' he described." He gestures to the tools on the table, "But not for long."

"Hey," Ghoul pouts and ruffles his ink black fringe - quite possibly for the last time - "I'm still kinda attached to my fringe. We got a lot of history together, y'know?"

Jet lays a hand on his arm in mock sympathy.

"Well, sometimes you gotta say goodbye. Go on now," He glances down at his beloved clipper once more, then back up at Ghoul with a look of warning in his eyes, "And you better keep it safe."

"I will," Ghoul takes the two items cautiously, gives Jet Star a promising nod, and goes off to reinvent himself.

Jet sits back with his arms folded and a smile on his face as he watches him leave. The guy's gonna fit right in here.

***

Approximately an hour and a half of on-and-off buzzing and the occasional muttered swear word later, the bathroom door creaks open.

Ghoul feels like a new man already as he runs a hand over his fresh cut, the sensation against his palm bringing him a burst of confidence. He goes back to show Jet his work (and return that precious clipper, obviously.) But it seems that in the time he's been hacking away at his hair, Jet's found things of his own to do, because he's not there anymore.

Someone else is, though.

Long crimson hair and a slightly faded metal band shirt catch Ghoul's eye, and he can't deny that his confidence wavers a little. He briefly considers the option of turning and leaving the room, but instantly changes his mind. Leaving at this moment would make shit _excrutiatingly_ awkward, because now Poison's looking directly at him. He swallows hard.

"Uh... you seen Jet anywhere?" He asks. He rubs his neck and glances around as if the Killjoy in question is gonna spring up out of nowhere, but only to not-so-obviously avoid eye contact with the only other person in the room.

"He's out," is Poison's answer - blunt, but in a relaxed sort of way that instantly puts Ghoul at ease. Well, a bit.

"A'ight, sick." Ghoul drops the tools on the counter behind him - Jet can pick them up whenever he gets back.

There's a short moment of silence as Poison turns to look at Ghoul again, studying him.

"Your hair's different." He concludes.

It's not a compliment necessarily, but it's not an insult either, so Ghoul figures he'll take it. And he's not wrong.

The sides and back of Ghoul's head are shaved down to stubble, although the top of his hair remains. Wasn't quite ready to wave goodbye to his precious fringe and go full buzzcut.

"Yeah," Ghoul touches what remains of his hair again, then shoves his hands in his pockets, "Guess it is."

Poison nods. A nod of approval, or maybe just acknowledgement. 

Poison's a little difficult to figure out. On reflection, Ghoul supposes he always has been, to some extent at least. But since he was let into his gang officially three days ago, Ghoul's been gradually exposed to a whole other side to him. Not hostile, not bitter. Not dripping with venom at every given opportunity. 

But if anything, tougher to grasp than before - because at least it was easy enough to tell when he hated his guts. And it doesn't help that, when strong feelings (constant fury, in this case) have been plucked out of the equation, Ghoul's just about the polar opposite of confident.

"You gonna sit down?" Poison asks. The question itself may hold a passively commanding tone, but that's more than likely just a habitual element of leadership, because his voice doesn't at all. 

Ghoul still hesitates, but then he feels a sudden surge of "how bad could this _really_ go?" sort of confidence and quickly drops into the booth he'd spoken to Jet in earlier before it can pass. Except this time, it's not Jet sitting opposite him. And this time, he doesn't have an accidental conversation starter lined up. 

He taps his fingers against the table to no particular rhythm. There are few things Ghoul can stand as little as small talk. Rather than attempt to engage in it right now with Poison of all people - notoriously difficult to hold conversations with, or at least, that's been most of Ghoul's experience thus far - he figures he's in a good place to find stuff out. Poison is the boss of this gang after all; if there are any ins and outs and rules Ghoul should be aware of, he's probably the person to ask. 

"It's weird. I would'a thought I'd feel like a whole new dude by now, but I don't." He remarks. He's not talking about his hair anymore, and Poison knows that.

The leader seems to ponder Ghoul's words for a second, before replying, 

"You're a new person the day you first think about breakin' free." His voice is almost a mutter, like he's still deep in thought about it. Ghoul turns to look at him as he stretches his arms over the backrest of the booth, eyes on the dusty landscape beyond the window. 

Fair point, he supposes. 

More silence passes as Ghoul mentally plans out where to take this conversation, and Poison continues staring out of the window with that pensive frown on his face.

"So, um... there any rules around here?" Ghoul tries, "Like, gang rules, y'know?"

He runs a hand over the newly shaved side of his head a little awkwardly. Poison gives a light snort, and cracks a smirk like Ghoul's told him a joke just about worth considering as he repeats,

"Rules."

Ghoul's waning rush of confidence is swallowed up by embarrassment; of course 'rules' aren't a thing, this is the zones. He forces a giggle so it seems like he was half joking, and he can avoid cringing himself into the ground below a little longer.

"Rules are city shit. AKA bullshit." Poison replies after a moment. "Things do have their ways of respondin' to yer actions out here, though. Obviously."

Yeah, 'obviously'. It'd be Ghoul's turn to laugh, if only his nerves weren't holding him back.

"Such as..?" He asks.

"You'll be gatherin' up plenty examples of yer own in no time," Poison replies casually.

Ghoul raises his brows, watching Poison trace a finger slowly along the window ledge with a deeper frown. Something like concentration. 

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ghoul's question comes out with an unintentional laugh; Poison's talking all enigmatic now, like he's sharing some ancient superstition of the zones. But from the expression in his voice alone, he could be talking about the damn weather. Ghoul briefly wonders if he's always spoken like this; he tries to take his mind back to the few other conversations they've had since communicating through punches became a thing of the past. 

No, he hasn't always spoken like this. Not exactly. But even though at times he wishes he'd be a little more straightforward, Ghoul thinks he likes this mysterious, deep-thinking manner of Poison's that he's getting familiar with. It's intriguing - almost makes him forget his own shyness. Makes him want to keep the conversation flowing.

"It means," Poison holds his hand up to the window, perhaps watching the sunlight catch on his bulky silver skull ring, "It comes to you. You don't go lookin', and there ain't no need to try an' prepare yourself for it,"

"Oh. Makes sense, actually," Ghoul mumbles, going over the words again in his head. Maybe Poison's right - it _will_ all come to him with time, and it's not worth hours of contemplation until it does. He'll figure it out. There's some comfort in that.

For the first time since the conversation started, he looks up to meet Poison's eye. He manages a quick smile, trying not to dwell on whether or not the action comes across bashful and awkward. 

Apparently it doesn't - or if it does, that doesn't matter - because Poison gives him one back. Equally brief, but it feels genuine. Warm, sort of. And Ghoul smiles again in response, breaking eye contact as he does so and glancing down at his hands under the table. 

Then Poison gets up from the booth.

"Where you going?" Ghoul asks as Poison walks out, rearranging the double wallet chain attached to his dark ripped jeans and tugging them up a little. He stops by Ghoul's booth, leaning against it and looking down at him.

"Nowhere much."

Ghoul looks up at him and nods.

"Cool." 

He considers calling out a quick "see you around" or some shit as Poison disappears around the door, just to make the conversation feel more complete, but he decides they ended it at a good place. Not too awkward, despite Poison's air of mystery returning for one last little hit.

He needs to clear his head - he barely noticed his nerves diminishing during that conversation, but the adrenaline he started with has left a slight, airy dizziness behind it. So he gets up and leaves through the _other_ door, the one Poison didn't choose.

Good timing; a tall, tacky button-up clad form approaches the diner, sand crunching under the soles of ankle boots that are just about the right amount of ugly to be cool.  
Jet's not alone. The shorter figure beside him - rollerskates, bright red eyeshadow and what looks like a hand-painted crop top - has him caught up in a conversation that's making him laugh. As the pair get closer to the diner, they pause; Jet takes the other person's hand and loosely swings it as they say their goodbyes. 

And then the stranger's skating off, Jet watching fondly for a moment before he continues walking towards the diner, at which point he notices Ghoul.

"Show Pony," He explains, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction the person went. He smiles softly again, "They're pretty cool."

"They just gonna go home on rollerskates?" Ghoul asks. He's still watching as they shrink into the distance, fascinated - it's just occured to him that he's never seen someone on rollerskates in real life.

Jet shrugs, once again engaged with the rest of the world,  
"Yeah. It's kinda their thing - they skate when they've got something to deliver."

"So they were delivering you, then?"

Jet laughs, and Ghoul notices the subtle lip gloss print on his lower cheek which catches the sunlight as he turns his head.

"Guess they were. By the way," He reaches forward and ruffles up Ghoul's hair, "Fuckin' great job, dude. Looks shiny."

Ghoul grins wider, smoothing a hand over his fringe,  
"Well, thanks for messing it up. Left your shit on the counter, by the way,"

"Awesome. Never get my shit back that quickly when Kobra borrows it," He rolls his eyes, then catches sight of something - or someone - and flashes a cheeky smile.  
"Can I take a guess why you were leaving jus' now?"

"What - oh," 

Ghoul follows Jet's eyeline to find Poison sitting on the bonnet of the trans am, lighting a cigarette.

"Nothing happened," He clears up, "I dunno, man. We talked, and it was cool. But I didn't wanna like... try an' stretch the conversation too long, y'get me?"

Jet nods, and Ghoul continues, "Quit while I was ahead, I guess. Didn't wanna say some awkward shit an' kill it,"

Jet scratches at his jaw as if thinking, but there's some inexplicable amusement in his eyes that he's obviously trying to conceal.

"Well, like... you're new, man - ain't no problem with feelin' a little shy. Don't be hard on yerself,"

Ghoul grimaces, sitting down in the doorway.

"Wish I wasn't so shit at the whole small talk thing,"

Jet shrugs like it's no big deal. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he's cut off.

"Oi!" 

Coming out of seemingly nowhere, Kobra pounces on Ghoul from behind, wrapping his sweaty, freckled arms around his neck.

"What d'you want, Snake Shit?" Ghoul grins toothily and jabs Kobra in the face.

"Where's half yer hair gone, dick'ead?" Kobra teases, roughly messing up what remains with his free hand as he keeps a hold of Ghoul with the other arm.

"Fuck off!" Ghoul laughs, shoving Kobra off his back, "Next time one of you does that, I'll bite your fingers off, and that's a promise."

"My man's got that Killjoy spirit already," Jet sniffs hard, wiping a mock tear from his cheek.

"Anyway, I came 'ere with a message," Kobra says, taking up the space next to Ghoul as Jet leans against the doorframe beside them, "And that's that we gotta go out tonight." He rests his hand heavily on Ghoul's shoulder, "It'll be this one's first gang outing an' all that,"

"Any reason why tonight specifically?" Jet asks.

"Oh, there's a reason alright," Kobra stands up in his excitement, "Those Fuckerz From Zone 4 are playin' that bar near WKIL at 7!"

"They're the shittest band in the whole damn desert!" Jet protests, a note of almost genuine distress in his voice.

"That's an actual band?" Ghoul looks at them both, bewildered. He's seen some dreadful band names on posters out here already, but this one's on a whole other level.

Kobra pats Jet's arm,

"Starman 'ere's just bitter 'cause he 'ad a little thing with the keyboard player before the band formed. Ended on a pretty sour note - 'scuse the pun there,"

"It wasn't a 'thing'" Jet rolls his eyes, "It was one date - I use that term lightly here, I wouldn't even call it a date. Ain't got nothing to do with Electrode, anyway; their music's just a bunch of noise."

"They're more original than 'alf the shit on the radio!" Kobra argues. He turns to Ghoul, "We'll let new boy be the judge, eh?"

"Fine," Jet mutters, "But we're gonna make a deal: he says it sucks ass, you owe me ten carbons. He... agrees with you for whatever reason, then I owe you."

"Can we lower it to five?" Kobra asks.

Jet laughs,  
"You only wanna lower it 'cause you know you're gonna be the one payin' up at the end of the night,"

Kobra turns away from the others for a moment.  
"Poison, get your arse over 'ere for like five minutes!"

"He's firmly on my side," Jet says coolly.

Kobra scoffs,  
"I'm not askin' him that. I already know 'is stance on this, and it's wrong, like yours."

Poison takes his time walking over - all eyes on him, as ever. The decider.

"What am I wrong about?" He asks. He too leans against the wall, but with a little more distance than the rest.

"Those Fuckerz From Zone 4 are playin' at the bar near WKIL tonight -"

"They're still together? That's a fuckin' shame," Poison cuts in, and Jet cackles, clapping his hands.

"Shu'up," Kobra replies, the comment directed at both of them, "But anyway, it'd be his first proper Killjoy night out and all that," He sits back down on the threshhold and slings an arm around Ghoul's shoulders, looking up at Poison hopefully.

"I mean, sure," Poison agrees, "But I can't think of a shittier way to celebrate joining the gang," 

"Yes!" Kobra roars, jumping up from the threshhold.  
Jet shakes his head as the blonde kid runs around, whooping in celebration.

As Jet and Poison walk ahead into the diner, Ghoul gets to his feet. 

"Dude, this is gonna be the best fuckin' night of yer life so far," Kobra assures him, wildly enthusiastic.

"Gotten mixed reviews," Ghoul replies, "But I guess I've got the fate of five whole carbons in my hands now."

"_My_ five carbons," Kobra replies smugly.

"Eh, we'll see," Ghoul says, "I'm not too picky about music, so you got a decent chance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of unfamiliar names in this chapter, so I'll go over those now.  
1) George: no real relevance. Just a name I thought up on the spot for Ghoul's city friend who has a stolen iPod.  
2) Those Fuckerz From Zone 4: fictional zone band! I made them up a while ago - there's a post about them on my blog, I'll try and find it and link it here later.  
3) Electrode: actually the name of a DD OC I never fully developed. Guess they get to be the keyboardist in the desert's shittiest band now.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! xoxo
> 
> \- Soph🖤🕸


	3. How to Lose a Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4/4 Killjoys go to a gig. 1/4 sees the band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: very brief mentions of drugs and smoking

Ghoul can barely comprehend that this cramped little space - likely once a storage room, though now free of shelves and with a stiff mattress shoved up in the corner - is his bedroom.  
It already feels more like home than that room miles away in Battery City, though; the room he'd occupied his whole life. There's more comfort in this peeling beige wallpaper, with letters and symbols scratched in that he can't quite make out and a few ominous-looking stains, than there ever was in the bright, spotless white that used to surround him.

He perches on the edge of his grubby mattress, then flops backwards onto it, swearing a little as a spring hits him in the back. But it feels safer than the bed that, just a few months ago, he'd begrudgingly make every morning before school; never a speck of dirt on the sheets, not a crumple in sight. Lifeless. 

He rests his arms behind his head, the shaved hair an unfamiliar sensation on his skin. 

School. 

Funny thing, that. He'd have been finishing up his final year, if he'd stayed. Then he'd have been leaving for good. Ghoul chuckles under his breath; he's left for good, alright. And he's left more than just high school behind; he crushed every conventional expectation set out for his future on that fateful night he snuck out.

Pulling a ballpoint pen out of his pocket, Ghoul sits up. It's one he fished out of his pencil case that same night, actually. A little souvenir from the city - _you won't be missed,_ he thinks. He spins the pen between his fingers for a moment, then scribbles a symbol on the wall beside his mattress. He's so familiar with it by now that he barely has to look: one big circle, two little ones inside, and a curve for the mouth. He finishes with the 'X' through one eye and slips the pen back into his pocket, satisfied enough.

Fun Ghoul's bedroom, complete with a signature. 

Walking out to the trans am, there's an unusual spring in his step and a satisfied smile on his face which prompts questions the moment he opens the door.

"Oh shit, what've you done?" Kobra teases.  
He's changed up his look for the gig; a yellow T-shirt with a very rushed-looking drawing of an eyeball on the front, and silver lip rings in place of the studs he'd been wearing earlier.

"What d'you mean?" Ghoul settles into the passenger seat - his only option, since Jet and Kobra are occupying the back.

"Got a smile on ya," Jet replies, "That never means nothing,"

Ghoul shrugs.  
"Nothing much. Drew my symbol on the wall, looks sorta sick up there. Also, I'm still pretty happy about this,"  
He smooths a hand over the side of his head.

"I remember when drawing my symbol around was that much of a novelty," Jet replies, with the wistful tone of someone flicking through childhood photo albums, "Treasure these days, yeah?"

"Not that it's all down hill from 'ere or anythin'," Kobra adds quickly, "You'll jus' look back on these days fondly when you've been out 'ere a while,"

Ghoul snorts.  
"You sound like a pair of grandpas,"

"So will you, soon enough. Promise ya - give it a couple months," Jet assures him, sunlight catching the rhinestones stuck on his cheek as he grins.

Kobra eyes Jet - more specifically, his outfit - and makes a choking sound that's probably a suppressed laugh.

"Dude, I can't take ya seriously while you're wearin' that fuckin' shirt," He says, before the laughter he's been trying to contain errupts.

"That's the point," Jet replies coolly, leaning back in his seat with his shoulders rolled back as if to show it off even more. 

Kobra's right; it's harder on the eyes than the one he had on earlier, somehow. Three different patterns at least, and Ghoul reckons he wouldn't be able to stare at it long enough to count the number of painfully clashing colours. It overshadows his heavy statement necklace, which peeks through the open top buttons.

"That's something I was gonna ask about, actually," Ghoul pipes up.

"What, why Jet's taste in shirts is so shit?"

"Shut it, Snakey,"

"Yeah," Ghoul begins, "I mean, no, not - " 

He's absolutely lost Kobra now, though; he's doubled over with laughter, stringy bleached waves hanging over his face.

"No," Ghoul takes a breath and purses his lips, aiming to supress his own laughter long enough to get his question out, "What I mean is, you two always seem to wear a bunch of colour,"

Kobra jabs Jet's sleeve,  
"You can say _that_ again!" 

Despite the evident amusement on his face, Jet rolls his eyes, then glances at Kobra's T-shirt and smoothly retorts,

"At least my shirt ain't got an ugly cartoon eyeball on it."

Ghoul's caught the giggles too by now, but manages to continue,

"Yeah, but I've never seen Poison wear anything other than full black. What's up with that? Does the leader gotta dress different or some shit?"

"I mean, when 'e was 14 he used to say it 'reflects the darkness of his soul'- not gonna lie, probably still the case," Kobra replies, still cackling to himself.

Jet sits up straight then and clears his throat, signifying that he's about to deliver a serious answer.

"Ok, so you know how painting everything white is pretty much Better Living's brand?" He says, leaning forward a little as Ghoul's noticed he often does when he's explaining something.

Ghoul nods, trying not to make eye contact with Kobra and set off his own laughter as a result while he's legitimately trying to learn a little about zone customs,

"Yeah,"

"Vibrant colour contrasts with white, so do dark shades. It's literally just that - some people go bright, some people go dark, some people like to mix it up. Whatever feels right, y'know?"

"Oh," Ghoul nods, "That makes sense, actually. Thanks,"

Jet smiles,  
"No problem, man. Curiosity's a big part of settling in out here,"

"On the topic of Poison," Kobra says, apparently having pulled himself together despite his cheeks still being flushed from laughing, "Looks like we're finally about to get goin'," 

It's only when the driver's door opens that Ghoul realises he'll be sat next to Poison for the whole journey to the bar, however long that might be. 

That in itself might be a little tiny bit awkward at worst - it's nothing he can't handle. No, it's the feeling in the air that's bothering Ghoul. Silent curiousity, like no one's quite used to seeing the two of them next to eachother and entirely civil, but they're not about to point it out; chatting's dwindled, and eyes in the backseat flit subtly between the windows and the front two seats every so often.

Poison's still smudging at the thick black line under his left eye as if he did it in a rush, despite the rest of the gang having waited in the car for him for at least fifteen minutes. He sticks a piece of gum in his mouth as he starts the engine.

"Can I 'ave some of that?" Kobra pipes up.

Poison takes a pack out of his jacket and hands it over.

"Cheers," 

Ghoul glances over at Poison. He considers attempting conversation again, but then he changes his mind, because Poison's got such a look of focus when he's driving - wouldn't want to be interrupted, surely.

The drive goes on. Jet and Kobra chat in the back, pointing out the things they pass by, laughing at everything and nothing. Poison joins in their conversations with a couple of words here and there. And Ghoul says nothing, because he doesn't know what to say.

Ten minutes or so later, the bar comes into view, its neon lights taking the job of the setting sun. Ghoul figures it's too late to start a conversation now.

*****

"Oi Ghoulie, get over 'ere!'

At a back table, Kobra's bent over the joint he's rolling, and on either side of him is a person Ghoul doesn't recognise. To his left, there's a girl dressed head-to-toe in black, apart from the streaks in her fringe and her middle fingernails, which are the same fluorescent green.

Kobra jerks his thumb in the girl's direction,  
"This is Newsie,"

"Hi!" She yells over the pounding music, with an enthusiastic wave of her fishnet-gloved hand and a wide, black lipstick-painted grin.

Kobra gestures to the person on his right, then: a guy with bright orange smeared around his eyes and a skin-tight yellow tank top that either glows in the dark or simply gives off that illusion because it's as bright as a highlighter.

"And this is our new friend... uh... what's yer name again?"

"Chaos Carter, motherfucker!" The man emphasises his name with finger guns and a smooth nod.

"That ya full name?" Newsie asks, before taking a long sip from the can in front of Kobra.

"Get yer own!" Kobra swipes it out of her hand, placing it at the far end of the table, and she laughs.

"Nah, that's m'first name," Chaos Carter replies, "My _full_ name is Chaos Carter the Chaotic," He scratches his chin, "Well, Chaos Carter the Chaotic of Chaos, actually, but that's the shortened version,"

"Sounds... chaotic," Ghoul remarks.

Chaos Carter sticks out a split tongue,

"Tha's right. Chaotic's what I do, and I do it with chaos,"

"That doesn't sound like a word anymore," Newsie whispers to Kobra, loud enough that Ghoul can hear.

"A'ight, I got some chaos to stir up," Chaos Carter stands up from his seat, looks at the three in turn, and gives a firm nod, "But remember this name, yeah? Chaos Carter. And you three - you gotta stick together. You're the Chaotic Trio now. Love ya," 

Chaos Carter blows a kiss, then heads out of the bar.

"See ya!" Kobra and Newsie call after him.

"Well, whatever that guy means by 'chaos'," Kobra says, "I 'ope he has fun with it,"

Newsie taps the space beside her and smiles eagerly up at Ghoul,  
"Come sit with us! Don't be shy,"

As Ghoul perches on the seat beside her, he narrowly avoids tripping over her huge platform boots.

"You cool with hugs?" She asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm -"

Ghoul's cut off as the girl kneels on the seat and flings her arms around his neck.

"Oh, hi," He chokes out. He hugs her back, flinching as a spike from her wristband pokes into him.

"My name's NewsAGoGo," she says as she pulls back, "Most people call me News. Or Newsie,"

Ghoul nods,  
"Awesome. I'm Ghoul - full name Fun Ghoul, if you're interested -"

"Ooh, I love your hair!" She exclaims, eyes widening, "Did ya do it yourself?"

Ghoul laughs and runs a hand over his hair,  
"Thanks! Yeah, I -"

"I shaved part of my hair, too!" News turns around and lifts her hair, revealing a neon green undercut and a tattoo of three bat silhouettes on the back of her neck.

Ghoul nods,  
"Yeah! Looks cool,"

News sits back in her seat and glances over at the far corner of the small building.

"Looks like a certain leader's brooding again," She remarks.

She's not wrong; Poison's leaning up against the wall, watching the scene around him with his head high, arms folded, and a slight, aloof frown.

Newsie turns her attention back to Ghoul,  
"Can't believe he let you in," She says, "Like, fuck, what did you have to do?"

"Um," Ghoul laughs, "Be at war with eachother for a couple months, apologise, take him with me to grafitti toilets in ol' Tommy's store and get banned together... and yeah,"

Newsie's jaw drops,  
"You mean to tell me you're new to the zones, you got on fucking _Poison_'s bad side, and you _survived_?" 

Kobra looks equally shocked,  
"You mean to tell me ya both got banned from Tommy's store and forgot to tell us?" 

Ghoul nods to both, a little smugly perhaps.

"Dude!" Newsie whispers, looking back and forth between Kobra and Ghoul, "_Dude!_"

"I dunno why he asked me to join, if 'm honest," Ghoul admits, "Been meaning to ask him, but I dunno, man. I can't talk to him without feeling..." He drifts off.

"Guilty? Awkward? Weird?" Kobra offers.

"All of the fucking above," Ghoul's words come out with a tone more sombre than even he expected.

Shit, time to lighten it up.

He puts on a carefree grin and turns to Kobra and News again,  
"But hey. We're cool with eachother now,"

He's right in that the anger's boiled down, certainly. But Ghoul reflects on the wordless car journey, and at the slightly awkward conversation they'd had back at the diner that morning. Speaking to Kobra, or to Jet - or to News, even - isn't like speaking to Poison. 

It's like a wall lingers between the two of them. 

Ghoul's not sure what the wall's made of, but he's sure of two things: the first is that he wants it demolished. 

The second is that this demolition's gonna be a two person job.

He gets up from his seat.

"I need'a piss, be back in a moment," 

He then proceeds to walk in the opposite direction of the toilets as Kobra quirks his pierced brow and News whispers,

"He's not gonna piss."

*****

"I uh - I wanna talk to you," 

The music swallows up Ghoul's words, but Poison must've heard him a little because he looks in his direction and mouths,

"What?"

"I wanna talk to you!" Ghoul calls out.

Poison furrows his brow in confusion, then beckons Ghoul over.

"I wanna talk," Ghoul says, still having to raise his voice over the music as he joins him in the corner, "But I think we should get out," He points at the door.

He glances at the hoards of people, then at Poison, who looks a little ghostly in the shadows; limp hair framing his sunken cheeks and smudged eyeliner merging with the circles beneath his icy blue eyes.

He moves closer to speak into Ghoul's ear,  
"Yeah, I can't hear shit in this place. Let's go,"

Poison takes the lead, striding towards the door, and Ghoul follows. Heads turn in their direction - Ghoul rightly assumes that attention's for Poison; with only a few short glances spared for himself, and they're a direct result of who he's with. A couple of people shuffle out of the way to let them both through, awestruck eyes still glued to the scarlet-haired leader as he walks, face sullen and returning none of their looks.

The second they're outside and away from prying eyes, though, he leans his back against the wall, shoulders sinking with a heavy, drawn-out exhale through pursed lips. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Wonder when people are gonna start staring at me like that," Ghoul jokes.

"Give it a week or so," Poison replies, "Word of mouth's gonna get ya stared up and down every time you enter a damn store. Can't get myself a fuckin' pack of smokes without an audience," 

Although he says it lightly, the bitterness behind his words doesn't go undetected. Ghoul nods, but says nothing. He doesn't _know_ what to say.  
If Poison's prediction is correct, though, he'll know in about a week. Less, maybe - if there's one thing Ghoul got out of school before he made his escape, it's that people talk. And damn, does talk spread.

"Where d'you wanna go?" Ghoul asks.

"I mean, we can sit here," Poison looks at the ground, then back up at Ghoul, "Unless ya wanna go for a drive instead."

Night drives leading to nowhere in particular are something Ghoul's only dreamt of up until now. He'd always told his friends he'd take them on a drive past curfew when he got his license: blasting their music, flipping off patrolling Dracs through the windows and somehow getting away with it. He never learned how to drive, though. His heart jumps a little at the suggestion, but he tries to keep his cool.

"I'd be down for a drive, yeah,"

****

"Man, I fuckin' love this song,"

Poison turns up the volume until the vibrations of the music are practically coming through the seats, headbanging with as much vigour as he can behind the wheel... which really isn't much more than passionate, angry nodding. He's mouthing along to the harsh, growling vocals coming through the speakers, and Ghoul has no idea how he can fully make out what the lyrics are - something about blood and death and rage - but it's entertaining to watch.

He doesn't think he's ever seen Poison this relaxed - having this much _fun._ For the first time, he sees him for what he is beneath his reputation of Poison, the fierce, feared and fearless, cold and cocky and shrouded in mystery, infamous leader of the Killjoys: a nineteen-year-old guy in black skinny jeans who needs a break as much as everyone else.

It makes Ghoul want to leave the serious talk for another time.

Yeah, he can save it for later. Living in the moment seems to be one of the unspoken desert rules Ghoul's gotta practice.

So he does.

Riding shotgun means Ghoul can get lost even deeper in the music, and he takes full advantage of that - in all honesty, he hasn't felt like this since he left behind the friends whose basements became top secret house parties in miniature after 6pm.

"You a metal sorta guy yourself, then?" Poison asks, grinning as he turns a corner.

"Ain't really my scene, but I can appreciate it," Ghoul rasps, a little breathless from his passenger seat headbanging session, "Punk rock, skate punk - that's my kinda shit,"

"Yeah, that seems like you,"

Ghoul chuckles, resting his elbow in the open window and pushing back his fringe to get some cool air on his sweaty forehead,  
"That a good thing?"

"It is what it is," Poison says, "Take it however you will."  
He laughs then, shaking his head, the breeze whipping his hair all over the place, "Nah, course it's a good thing,"

Ghoul beams. It comes naturally this time - no effort needed. Poison catches him in his peripheral vision; he turns his head briefly to return the smile, and it doesn't fade when he's got his eyes back on the road. Ghoul smiles harder, so hard his cheeks ache a bit.

The cool breeze whips at his face, sweeping the scent of the road and the desert night towards him, and the guitar droning through the speakers drowns out the heaviest of his thoughts. He closes his eyes, basking in it.

He feels alive.

"I'm so fucking glad I left, man," He laughs with the words, grinning like he hasn't in years, "I'm so, so fucking glad,"

There's an energy coursing through his veins; he feels like he could burst any second within the confines of this car.

"That feeling never goes away."

Poison's voice startles Ghoul a little, being so caught up in the moment. 

"Doesn't it?" He asks, but he knows the answer when he looks at Poison. The exhaustion seems almost gone from his face, no uptight bitterness in his expression. No scowl on his lips, no furrowed brow, jaw finally unclenched.

"Well, it ain't gone yet - think we all feel it here and there,"

Eventually, they pull up on the side of a road. Ghoul's not sure where they are, but he doesn't really care.

"We can sit outside," Poison offers, already opening his door.

"I'd be cool with that,"

They step out, and Poison perches on the hood of the car.

"Problem is," He notes "It's fuckin' bitter,"

"And you've actually come out wearing a jacket this time!" Ghoul teases. He clambers up next to Poison, and adds,  
"Just sit near me, people say I'm like a fucking human radiator."

Ghoul's words are a little surprising to his own ears; he doesn't know where all this confidence has suddenly come from, but apparently death metal at an eardrum-shattering volume and cool desert air was all he needed to summon it. 

If only he'd learned that trick earlier.

Poison seems slightly taken aback, too, but not in a bad way. He accepts the offer gratefully, and edges closer to Ghoul, who wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

"Fucking hell, Poison, you weren't kidding," Ghoul rubs his arm up and down roughly in an attempt to generate some degree of warmth, "You're shaking like a leaf." 

"You weren't kiddin', either," Poison replies, squashing himself tightly up to Ghoul's side, "Shit, you're even warmer than Jet."

Then there's silence, aside from the distant sound of crickets and the soft rustling of Poison's hair against Ghoul's jacket collar as he shifts around to find a comfortable position. 

It hits Ghoul that this is the car bonnet he was chilling on when his first desert fight broke out. And now, just a couple of months later, the very same guy is sitting on the bonnet _with_ him. Sharing his body heat.

Maybe it's time to start talking.

"Can I uh... can I ask you something?" Ghoul asks, feeling his shyness return a little.

"Go for it," Poison murmurs, accidently nudging Ghoul's stubbly cheek with his cold nose. The action, brief as it was, makes Ghoul lose his train of thought for a second; his breath catches in his throat in the same way it does when he's about to cry. Being alone out here for so long prior to being taken in by the Killjoys, Ghoul's missed gentle human contact more than he realised.

"Why did you..." He takes a second to piece together the question in his head, then clears his throat and tries again. "What made you want me in the gang? Like, I'm glad and all, obviously, but - this is a big deal. A huge fucking deal, y'know? And me of all people... I was like, your fucking... nemesis,"

Poison bursts out laughing at that, his leather-clad shoulders shaking against Ghoul's arm. And Ghoul laughs, too.

"Wouldn't go that far. I thought you were a dick, yeah," Poison shifts so his back is flat against Ghoul's arm, "But damn, to declare you my nemesis after like, three months of knowin' ya... bit forward,"

Between Poison's shoulder blades and the stiff windscreen, Ghoul's upper arm is slightly crushed, but he doesn't really feel like moving it. He likes this cosy arrangement.

"Yeah, you're right," He agrees, chuckling at Poison's word choice. "But still - we weren't friendly, and now I'm in your gang. Dude, you're the most famous crew in the fucking desert. You're the _Killjoys_. Why me of all people?"

"I'll put it this way," Poison sits up straight, freeing Ghoul's arm. Ghoul feels his bones and muscles sigh with relief, and takes the opportunity to stretch and shake out his arm while Poison's giving his explanation.

"Most people know who I am. And people who know who I am won't dare challenge me."

As arrogant as the statement comes across, Ghoul considers how the people at the bar had reacted to his mere presence earlier, and he figures Poison's not exaggerating.

He scoffs, though.

"Opposite of my reaction, and I knew who you were,"

Poison doesn't laugh at the jest. He turns to look at him, before simply replying,

"Exactly."

Ghoul raises his dark brows,

"So I punched you back, and you were like 'alright, sick, I'm hiring this motherfucker'?"

"My turn to ask a question," Poison lies back on the bonnet, arms folded over his stomach. His hair spills out from under his back - red as blood, contrasting with his all-black attire, like it was dyed to be a threat.

"Ask away," Ghoul says.

"Why'd you keep coming back? I mean, you only came back by yourself once, to be fair - that time we fought in the backroom. But why'd you do it?"

Ghoul sighs, then slides down to lie next to Poison, resting on his side.

"It's like I said at the time. Honestly, I dunno why I did it,"  
He changes his mind, then, biting his lip.  
"Well, I guess I missed Kobra. And Jet, though I hadn't talked to him much. And like, I dunno, I guess I don't like being by myself for too long, I felt alone. But... it wasn't just that,"

Poison turns onto his side to face Ghoul, propping himself up on his elbow, and softly asks,

"What was it, then?"

Ghoul clears his throat. 

"Poison, you... I think you're an intriguing guy. There's that. I guess part of me might've wanted to actually talk to you," He exhales softly, "But we were both too riled up for it."

Ghoul's cheeks are scorching; he feels a little silly about the confession. But then Poison speaks up.

"Feeling's mutual. I think we're gonna figure out we've got a lot in common."

Relief washes over Ghoul like a tidal wave.

"Yeah," He agrees, "I mean, Kobra said we sorta do - probably why we instantly saw eachother as challenges."

"Oh, I've got no doubts about that." Poison giggles.

Ghoul meets his eye again, and feels guilt sink like a stone in his gut.

"I really... ah. I really... don't hate you," Ghoul grimaces, turning onto his back and looking up at the clear night sky, "Like, at all. I want you to know that," He shuts his eyes, as if it'll make the words come out with more ease.  
"I kinda wish we could meet for the first time again. I know I can't erase everything, I can't take back all the shit I did and said, but I wish I hadn't done any of it, and... I just..." He trails off.

"D'you want a hug?"

Ghoul laughs breathily and swallows hard,  
"Yeah, thanks. Think I need it,"

Poison eases himself up, back resting against the windscreen. Ghoul follows and moves into his open arms, breathing in the strong scent of his cheap cologne and cigarettes. He clutches Poison like his life depends on it, face buried in his jacket.

"Ghoul, you're pinnin' it all on yourself again," Poison murmurs, stroking slowly up and down his back. His throaty voice is soothing when it's barely above a whisper. "Like, fucksake, I was the one who started the first fight, remember? We both did some fucked up shit, said a bunch'a stuff we probably didn't mean because we were pissed off and tryin' to prove ourselves,"

Ghoul nods fervently into his shoulder.

"We apologised, we both have our regrets. But there ain't no point wishin' we could erase it. We've seen the worst of eachother, sure - but now we're getting to see the rest. Come on, man. It's alright,"

"Yeah," Ghoul nods again, feeling slightly closer than before to the verge of tears because _fuck_ does Poison know exactly what to say, "You're right. Thanks."

He sits up, and Poison gently squeezes his forearm, rubbing the denim cuff of his jacket with his thumb as he continues, "This is a new chapter. Doesn't mean the previous one never happened - just means we can grow from it,"

"Fuck, you've really got a way with words, huh?" Ghoul giggles, "Guess it comes with being the leader,"

"Lot'a things come with being the leader," Poison says coolly.

"And there you go, talking in damn riddles again,"

Poison smirks,

"What d'ya mean? I ain't talkin' in riddles."

"Whatever you say," Ghoul teases, lightly elbowing his side. They share another smile.

Ghoul feels a little giddy, but now from relief rather than nerves. They've cleared the air, and that's all he wanted.

Sitting back against the windscreen, the pair watch the sky in comfortable silence, arms pressed against eachother.

"D'you wanna head back to the bar?" Poison asks eventually.

Ghoul considers his options, then shakes his head.  
"Is it cool if we chill out here a bit longer?"

Poison shrugs.  
"I'm cool with that. But I do wanna sit in the car, I'm still too fuckin' cold,"

"Deal."

The two slip off the bonnet, and as soon as they're in the car, Poison shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over to the back.

"Thought you were cold five seconds ago," Ghoul remarks, amused.

"Eh, we're inside now." 

As Poison leans back against the door, Ghoul's curious eyes wander over his arm, more specifically his intricate tattoo sleeve. Poison notices almost instantly; he pushes up the sleeve of his T-shirt and turns a bit so Ghoul can get a proper view of his ink.

"Pretty cool, huh?

"Fucking awesome," Ghoul breathes, taking in the details of the snarling wolf face on Poison's shoulder, its crimson eyes leering and blood-stained teeth bared viciously.  
"I never seen anything like this in the city. Couple'a my friends had stick and pokes, but this... fucking hell,"

Ghoul's too engrossed to notice Poison smiling at his raw fascination.

"Think you'll get any of yer own?" Poison asks, pulling his shirt sleeve down as Ghoul sits back in his seat.

"Nah, not for me. They're sick on other people, though," 

Poison nods,  
"That's fair. Gettin' inked ain't for everyone,"

Ghoul leans back against his seat, resting his eyes for a moment. As happy as this evening's made him, voicing the thoughts that've been eating at him has also left him feeling a little drained.

"Tired?" 

"Bit, yeah,"

"I feel that," Poison sighs, "Can't remember the last time I wasn't tired."

Opening his eyes, Ghoul reaches out to rub Poison's shoulder.

"Maybe we should start heading back," He suggests, "Think we could both do with some rest, and we probably missed the whole fucking gig,"

Poison snorts dismissively,  
"You won't have missed much, trust," 

The engine starts up, and the radio goes back on, but the volume's lower than it was on the drive from the bar; just background noise. The windows are up to lock the warmth in. A sense of calm hangs over the car, and it's just what Ghoul needs at this moment.

"You ever considered letting anyone else into the gang?" He asks quietly; it's a question that's been weighing on his mind for a little while now.

Poison thinks for a second. 

"I never felt like we needed anyone else, until you came along."

He says it like it's nothing, but the words warm Ghoul like he's standing in a patch of sunlight. 

****

"Dude, how long were ya pissin' for?"  
Is the greeting Ghoul gets when he and Poison rejoin the group.

"Whole gig, it seems," Ghoul replies, dropping into a seat next to Jet, who'd also magically reappeared after the headliner was finished, and had joined News and Kobra at their table. 

Now, however, there's no sign of the former.

"Where's Newsie?" Ghoul asks, glancing around in case he's just missed her.

"She was chattin' up some girl, they left together about five minutes before you guys arrived," Jet answers. 

Ghoul nods,  
"Good for her."

Jet looks smug all of a sudden, and leans back in his seat.  
"Now. About that bet,"

"He missed the fuckin' gig!" Kobra exclaims, "It doesn't count, he has to give an opinion,"

"You both lose," Poison suggests, standing by the table with a smirk on his face.

"You _especially_ don't get a say," Jet jabs a finger at Poison in mock accusation, "Stealing our judge like that!"

Ghoul laughs.  
"Pretty sure I stole him, actually."

And so the gang leave the bar without a winner among them, and 3/4 spend the journey home listening to Kobra ramble about how much they missed.


	4. How to Reflect on the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghoul reflects on the events of last night.  
Kobra reflects on the events of six years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: very lightly implied drinking (in one line), mentions of parents, briefly implied family issues.

The click and thud of the front door closing rouses Ghoul from his sleep.

With a small disgruntled noise, he lifts his head, too preoccupied with rubbing his eyes to open them, and whacks his temple against a sharp surface.

"Fuck!" He hisses, the pain piercing through his sleepy haze enough for him to discover that the cause of it was the edge of a table.  
He clasps his sore head and mutters a soft, "Shit."

"Got quite a vocabulary today, 'aven't you?"  
The person whose entrance woke him remarks. 

It's Kobra, obviously; Ghoul could recognise the cheery spirit in his voice anywhere. And he never runs out of it, not even this early in the morning.  
It's kind of enviable.

Ghoul shields his eyes from the bright sunlight filtering through the window. Damn, it's not usually _this_ intense until midday.

He eases himself up, feeling his sticky shirt pull away from leather underneath him - and that's when he's hit by a realisation.

"Did I fall asleep in this booth?"

Last night must've worn Ghoul out more than he thought; he barely even _remembers_ coming back to the diner, let alone passing out here.

"That's exactly what you did," Kobra confirms brightly, "Would'a woken you up m'self, but Poison said to let ya sleep,"  
He clicks his tongue, "I'd been so looking forward to emptyin' that bottle of water on ya. Shame,"

"Yeah, that's a real shame," Ghoul agrees, "I'd pick that over getting beaten up by a table any day,"

Though he doesn't mention it, he considers the first part of what Kobra said again.

Ordinarily, Ghoul would be taken aback by a kind little gesture like that from Poison, but right now, it just fills him with optimism. He feels like things are changing between them - _really_ changing. Especially after last night.

"Well, good morning," He says finally.

Kobra laughs.  
"Nice try, dude."

"What d'you mean?" Ghoul asks, bemused.  
It's far too early for Poison-esque riddles, and besides, his head's aching enough already; he touches his temple again and flinches.

"Dude, It's the middle of the damn day," Kobra clears up.

_The middle of the day? Fucking hell._

"Shit... I should probably get up," Ghoul decides. He doesn't want to waste anymore of today.

"I'll leave ya to it," Kobra agrees. He glances at the door, "And when yer ready, meet me outside - there's someone we gotta introduce you to," 

But before Ghoul can ask any questions, Kobra's already rushing back out of the door, leaving him to wonder who the hell he could be about to meet.

****

"This gonna be Chaos Carter: the sequel?'"  
Ghoul's eyes are firmly shut as Kobra leads him with a hand on his back.

"Even better. You're gonna lose yer shit when you see - Jet an' I both did," Kobra's talking at the speed of light, a sure sign that he's excited.

"Think I already disagree with the first part," Ghoul counters, "_Nothing_ beats a dude with a split tongue who can say 50 variations of the same word in one sentence," 

"I'll give ya that," Kobra admits, taking Ghoul around the corner, "But trust me when I say this comes very, _very_ close."

He comes to a stop.

"Open your eyes!"

The anticipation's been almost unbearable, and Ghoul does so quickly. 

But there's nothing and no one to be seen other than, well... Kobra, who's smirking from ear to ear like he's just pulled the most hilarious prank of his life.

Ghoul looks around, practically turning 360°. 

"I'm missing something, right?"

Kobra laughs and shakes his head, shaggy blonde waves falling over his eyes. He shoves the hair back, then pulls a bright green hairclip out of his pocket to secure it in place.

"Nah, but that was proper funny, wasn't it?"

Before Ghoul can eat him alive, though (which would be an entirely justifiable response to this "joke") Kobra says,

"Go 'round the other side,"

The second the words leave his lips, Ghoul's sprinting away, Kobra chasing after him.

"Slow down, I gotta see your reaction!"

As he turns the corner, though, Ghoul stops in his tracks. 

His eyes widen, and the words "holy shit" fall from his lips.

Jet's already waiting there, curls tucked roughly into a small bun and tank top soaked with sweat, pouring water from a bottle into his palm to pat onto his face. 

But he's not standing alone.

Propped against the wall is a motorbike, the kind that, not long ago, Ghoul could only have _dreamed_ of seeing in the flesh. 

The paint's chipped all over and there's rust in a few places, but otherwise, it seems to be in good condition. 

"Look at this," Kobra pants, catching up with Ghoul and grasping his shoulder, "Look at this fuckin' beauty,"

He runs over to the bike and throws his arms around it.

"Eh. Wouldn't call it a 'beauty' exactly, still the ugliest motherfucker I ever seen in my life,"  
Jet nudges a tyre with the toe of his boot, "But it might actually work soon. So, not entirely a useless piece of junk,"

Kobra gasps.  
"Don't you listen to that asshole!" He cups his palms over the handlebars as if covering the bike's ears.

"No need to spare its feelings," Jet scoffs.

Kobra scrunches his nose, sticking his tongue out at him.

"Shu'up," He retorts, "You're just jealous of the connection we already got,"

Ghoul steps forward and runs a hand over the seat, awestruck but cautious, like he's afraid the slightest touch might cause the whole vehicle to fall apart.

"Awesome," He breathes. "Either of you gonna take it for a spin?" 

Kobra crouches beside it.  
"Ah, think it still needs a couple adjustments -"

"And a fuckton of paintwork," Jet cuts in, eyeing the bike with a hand on his hip, "Make it a little less of an eyesore,"

Kobra stands back to study it.  
"Yeah. I'd be absolutely up for paintin' it, to be honest. But after that, this baby's all mine," He beams brighter than the midday sun.

Jet clears his throat - hard and deliberate - and arches a brow at Kobra, who gives a resigned sigh.

"_And_ yours. Even though you've done nothin' but insult it since it came home,"

With a short nod and a satisfied hum, Jet begins to examine the bike again, eyes filled with focus.

"Oh, by the way," Ghoul suddenly remembers what he would've said to Kobra the night before, had he not passed out the second they stepped into the diner:  
"Sorry for pissing off with no warning last night. Would'a come back earlier, I swear, but we sorta lost track of time,"

Kobra dismisses Ghoul's worries with a shake of the head.

"No need, man. Newsie and I were actually glad you did what ya did," He sits down in the sand, resting against a tyre, "I get the impression you've both been wanting to chat, just needed the opportunity,"

"Hey, don't sweat it, dude - I was gone way longer than you were," Jet drops a little carelessly onto the seat of the bike, a proud grin stretched across his face, "And I regret _nothing_!"

Kobra rolls his eyes,  
"Yeah, we know that, dick'ead. Where'd ya go, anyway?"

Jet shrugs, wipes his palms on his patterned shorts, (which look suspiciously like swimming trunks) and says,  
"Vaguely remember playin' dares with some other crew in the parking lot. Also lost a sock - the orange one. Kept both shoes, though, so that's a positive. But I got a question of my own - where did _you two_ get off to?"

Both he and Kobra look pointedly at Ghoul, clearly ready for a story.

Ghoul probably should've seen the question coming eventually, but for some reason he finds himself stumped on how to answer it.

"Oh, um... we went for a drive," He stuffs his hands in his pockets, "Talked for a bit,"

He figures the little details aren't important to his recount. 

Details like how Poison's so great at putting things into words that he was nearly moved to tears, and how it was cold, so he'd sat on the hood with Poison under his arm, which was nice and also made him realise how badly he's missed the warmth and comfort of being that close to another person for that long, and how it _could've_ felt at least slightly weird, because are they really friends yet? Had they not been stubborn enemies just weeks before? But it _hadn't_ felt weird, and Ghoul's been going over and over that in the back of his mind since they drove back to the bar in comfortable quiet.

But anyway. Details, details - irrelevant.

"Then we went back to the bar," He finishes, "And you two were at the table, and Newsie wasn't. And yeah. The end,"

Kobra and Jet exchange a glance, then Jet nods.

"Sweet. That must'a been one hell of a long conversation, but hey - got you outta that crappy gig,"

"You didn't even see it!" Kobra punches Jet's leg, "None a'you can say _shit_ about Those Fuckerz From Zone 4 now, you missed yer chance to judge them for _real_,"

"I've heard their awful songs, that's more than enough experience for me," Jet replies coolly.

"You don't know shit," Kobra's tone marks the end of the discussion, "But also, Ghoul's reminded me - one'a you needs to go find Poison so we can show 'im the bike. 'Cause I ain't moving," 

He leans back against the wall, obviously enjoying his spot in the shade.

"Well, I ain't moving either, Kobra," Jet says, "You'll steal my seat the second I get up,"

"Pfft, nah. I'd never do that," Kobra scoffs.

"I've known ya long enough. Ain't no fooling me when it comes to this shit," Jet grins at him, leaning down to tousle his hair in a brotherly fashion, and Kobra flicks his hand away.

"I could go find him," Ghoul offers quickly, and instantly worries that he sounded a little _too_ enthusiastic, but Jet and Kobra don't seem to notice.

"Awesome, you go do that," Jet replies, and Ghoul leaves the two of them squabbling playfully - this time over Kobra's hair, it sounds like.

****

Ghoul can't deny that he wanted the opportunity to talk to Poison.

And, oddly enough, that's nothing new. 

He'd said it right to Poison's face last night;  
something about him is _intriguing._

Something in that arrogant, thin-lipped smirk that used to get on Ghoul's nerves. Something in his words, and the tone his voice often holds. Something in his stance.

It's probably at least part of how he so easily stole the attention of the zones and city alike.

But there's something else Ghoul finds more compelling than _any_ of that.

And that's the fact he's starting to wonder how much of Poison's ice cold, mysterious demeanor is genuine.

"Hey Poison, you in here?" He calls out as he enters the diner.

"Yeah, I am. Remember the room where I punched you in the nose and you knocked over a lampshade?" 

Not _quite_ the reply Ghoul expected, but it does answer his question, so he'll take it.  
He stands at the door for a moment, shuffling his feet, then looks down and knocks. 

"Just come in," Poison calls back.

"Oh - thanks,"

Making an effort not to tread on the pile of black clothes near the doorway, Ghoul enters a small room he hasn't seen in a while.

The lampshade is standing upright now, thankfully, and hasn't moved from its spot in the corner.

There's also a rather worn-looking dark grey sofa against one wall which Ghoul didn't acknowledge last time, but now he does, because Poison's lying on it, staring up at the ceiling a bit listlessly. When he notices Ghoul, though, he sits up, pushing a heap of crumpled blankets aside.

"This your room, then?" Ghoul asks, though he knows it most likely is.

"Well, it's the one I sleep in," Poison replies, as if he hasn't really thought about it before.  
"You don't need'a just stand around like that, by the way." 

He glances subtly at the space beside him on the sofa, then back at Ghoul, as if inviting him.

"Right, yeah. Thanks,"

Ghoul drops into the spot by the armrest, and soon finds himself lying back against it, a squashed pillow cushioning his lower back. He welcomes it, seeing as the muscles there have barely given him a second of peace since he set out to the desert.

"Nice to _finally_ see you awake," Poison's voice is wrapped in sarcasm, but there's a small smile on his lips. Ghoul can't help but return it.

"Shut it, you. I was..." He searches for an excuse, but all that comes to mind is... well... the truth.  
"I was tired."

Poison snorts.  
"Yeah, that ain't no secret. Didn't think we were gonna get to say a word to you 'til tomorrow at the earliest,"

"Aww," Ghoul beams in flattery that's only half feigned, "Missed me, did you?"

"You fuckin' _wish_ I did,"

Poison swings both legs up onto the sofa and turns so that he's facing Ghoul, who pulls his own knees closer to his body to avoid accidently kicking him. 

"Anyway. Did ya come here for a specific reason, or just to annoy me?"  
There's a teasing look in Poison's eyes - which aren't currently rimmed with dark, faded liner. It's one of the very few occasions so far that Ghoul's seen him without it, in fact. 

"Oh, of course. Needed to get my daily dose of pissing you off as soon as possible," Ghoul retorts with a cheeky grin. He drums his fingertips on the leather backrest, "Nah, but real talk, Kobra and Jet wanna show you something,"

Poison raises a brow, the one with a scar through it. 

"They wanna show me somethin'? Oh, shit."

Ghoul chuckles at the genuine concern on his face.  
"I've seen it already. It's pretty sick - not gonna tell you what it is, though," 

"Well, considering some'a the shit those two've dragged home before," Poison remarks, "I dread to think what kinda surprise I'm gonna get this time," 

"You mean like me?" Ghoul can't resist a giggle at his own joke, but fortunately, Poison seems to find it funny too.

"Oh, even worse," His eyes widen like he's recalling absolute horrors.

"Worse than me?" Ghoul repeats, "Damn. I think that's the biggest compliment I've ever heard come outta your mouth,"

"You're welcome,"  
That familiar, cocky smirk comes with Poison's words, but it doesn't feel quite the same when they're play arguing like this. 

Right now, Ghoul likes it much better.

"I appreciate it. Makes a refreshing change," He teases back, and Poison shoves his leg.

"You callin' me an asshole, motherfucker?"

"You said it, not me," Ghoul raises his palms in surrender, laughing as Poison sticks up his middle finger. He's got a fresh coat of black on his nails, Ghoul notices; still a bit messy around the edges. 

"Going back to our old rivalry then, huh?" Poison sneers, clearly enjoying himself.

"Is that a challenge?" Ghoul lightly kicks his ankle, and Poison reaches over to thump his arm just as softly in retaliation. 

"Oh, c'mon," Ghoul taunts, "I _know_ you can do better than that,"  
He pulls the small pillow out from under his back and tosses it at Poison, who laughs as he just about manages to catch it.

"I can do better, huh?" He chucks the pillow back at Ghoul, (who ducks out of the way, but it still hits him in the shoulder)  
"Glad ya finally admit it,"

"Said you could do better than _that_, not better than me," Ghoul points out, holding the pillow like a shield. It smells subtly of something sharp and cool - a nice scent, and one that's becoming familiar.

"Keep tellin' yerself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night," Poison replies, before quietly adding, "Or through the entire fuckin' day, more like,"

"You're such a dick!" Ghoul leans forward to playfully push Poison, and he collapses against the armrest, giggling.

"Says you," He manages to throw back through his laughter.

This is the second time in two days that Ghoul's seen him this comfortable, just having _fun._ He assumes very few people get to see him like this, and feels a spark of pride at the thought. 

It's also kind of... heart-warming, in a way.

Then Poison sits up, clearing his throat.

"Listen, as much as I'd love to be fightin' ya right now - and mark my fuckin' words, this ain't over," He jabs Ghoul's knee hard, but not hard enough to hurt, "Kobra and Jet are gonna be pissed if we keep 'em waiting,"

"Shit! You're right," 

Ghoul can't believe he let that slip his mind; it was the reason he came here in the first place. He hauls himself off the sofa, putting the pillow back where it was.

Poison follows, shoving his pile of blankets off the sofa rather than smoothing them out. 

Ghoul can't imagine sleeping with that many blankets, he'd overheat with _two._ But then again, Poison does get colder at night than he does.

...Which reminds him, actually.

"Wait, before we go,"

Poison stops expectantly.

Ghoul scratches the back of his neck,

"Just wanted to say, uh... thanks for hanging out with me last night."

Poison smiles. A genuine, _radiant_ smile that Ghoul's still not quite used to seeing, flashing his teeth. He's got a prominent gap at the front - Ghoul assumes he must've lost that tooth in a clap or something. 

Clap? Is that the right word? 

_Yeah, think I'm getting the hang of that one._

"It's cool," Poison says, "It beat stickin' around for that gig, no doubt about it,"

Ghoul giggles; he still hasn't heard a single song by this band so he has no basis to form an opinion of his own yet, but Jet and Poison's unrelenting jabs at them _are_ pretty funny.

"Yeah, that might've been a bonus. But also, I've actually always wanted to go for a drive at night," He admits. 

And last night's drive was everything he'd hoped it'd be times a hundred; he'd felt the life in his veins, the freedom had hit him with a force that increased by the minute.

"Really? I do it a lot," Poison gazes ahead thoughtfully, "Prefer the roads when they're empty and it's dark out. I prefer being out at night in general, actually," 

"Oh, I'm the opposite. Usually," Ghoul says, "Creeps me out a little when places are too quiet and dark. It isn't the same when you're in a car or some shit, but just... being out in the open, y'know?"  
He chews his lip, struck by the thought that he might be rambling. But Poison doesn't seem to mind. He's _listening_, in fact. Encouraged, Ghoul continues.  
"It wasn't like that last night, though. Y'know, when we sat outside," 

Truth is, last night was the same as any other. 

The sky was just as dark, the roads just as empty. Near silence all around. Ghoul just hadn't noticed it - not for a single second.

Poison grins again and tucks back a strand of crimson hair that's escaped his ponytail. 

"You're a fun guy to drive with, y'know," He remarks.

Ghoul's never quite sure how to respond to compliments, and especially not this one.

"Thanks, uh..." He laughs, his cheeks and neck heating up, "We could do it again some time? If you're up for it... then yeah, I'm also... up for it. To do that. Go on an another drive,"

The words spurt out like water from a punctured garden hose, and Ghoul's glad the sentence was coherent at least. 

Damn it, and to think this conversation had been going so smoothly. 

Poison notes his awkwardness, and it makes him laugh - but it's clear that there's no judgement in that laugh, because then he says,

"I'm down whenever you are,"

Ghoul nods, feeling his embarrassment disappear as quickly as it'd risen to the surface a moment before.

"Awesome. We should get going now, though," Once again, he's remembered his reason for being here in the first place.  
"Seriously, you're gonna be like 'what the actual fuck?' when you see it,"

"Well, I think you're right on that one," Poison says.

"In a good way, though!" Ghoul assures him as they leave the diner together, "Honestly, I could barely believe it,"

"You're settin' my expectations really high," Poison shuts the door firmly behind them in a way that seems habitual.

Ghoul chuckles.

"Always the cynic, aren't you?" 

"Not _always_," Poison elbows Ghoul's arm as they walk, giving him an indignant pout. Ghoul sticks his tongue out in response. 

"Finally!" Kobra yells as the two appear around the corner. 

Gone is the green hairclip, and instead the top of his hair's tied up in a tiny ponytail that looks like a fountain. From the bickering he overheard earlier, Ghoul assumes Jet's responsible for that.

"Yeah, can you two maybe save your quality time for when we ain't sittin' out here in the heat?" Jet suggests, rolling his eyes, but they can tell he's not really _that_ pissed.

"Dude, we were like five minutes!" Ghoul protests.

Poison, however, is too absorbed in what's in front of him to even acknowledge the other two members of the crew. Eventually, he looks up at them and says,

"What the actual _fuck?_"

"I _called_ it!" Ghoul shouts, triumph glowing on his face, "Exact words,"

"Oh, fuck," Poison pinches the bridge of his nose, "Fine, you win that one,"

Kobra turns to Jet with a puzzled expression, and Jet shrugs, equally confused.

Poison smiles again; it's not a small smile by any means, but it's quick, and he looks at Ghoul like he's sending it directly to him. It's a smile that says "it's between us"; _their_ little inside joke.

Ghoul beams down at his own shoes, but Poison's already got his eyes back on the bike.

"Where'd ya get it, anyway?" 

"Told the bastard ridin' it to piss off and snatched it up for ourselves," Kobra replies, grinning wide, but then he shakes his head.  
"Nah. Jet found it just dumped, and we thought we could give it a home,"

"Been fixin' it up all morning," Jet adds, "Still got a way to go, but there's potential here,"

Poison nods, looking the bike over again with folded arms as he comes to a conclusion.

"Well, as long as we ain't gonna have some pissed-off crew coming 'round here 'cause they want it back," He says, "Do what ya like with it."

"I'm gonna make it the most beautiful motherfucker any of you ever seen in yer lives,"  
Kobra announces. He scrambles up from the sand and runs over, grabbing Ghoul's shoulder.  
"And _you're_ gonna help me,"

He turns to Poison,  
"We're gonna go get paint. Usual place, won't be long"

"Yeah, go for it," Poison shrugs, "Just try not to go over 15 carbons again, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Then, when we get back," Kobra sighs dreamily, "This bike's our fuckin' canvas,"

"Well, I doubt you can make it any uglier than it already is," Jet retorts, "So I'm feelin' optimistic."

Kobra flashes a scheming smirk. "Wait 'til we're done painting Korse's face on every wheel, yeah? _Then_ you can judge,"

Ghoul snorts hard at the image that puts in his head, and Jet rolls his eyes. 

"Guess that would be... some sorta 'fuck you' to the Better Living rats, certainly," He acknowledges, "So I support it,"

After exchanging quick goodbyes and the mandatory "try not to get yourself into trouble"s, Jet and Poison watch the other half of the crew disappear into the distance, laughing over the horrible suggestions they're exchanging.

"Guess we're about to see Kobra turn this bike into another one'a his art projects," Jet says, hot and tired and ready to go back indoors but amused all the same, "And new boy's gonna encourage him, no doubt,"

Poison nods slowly. Then there's a little spark of a smile on his lips, and he simply replies,  
"Should be interesting."

He's thinking something - Jet can hear it in his voice. 

Poison turns, then, and heads back indoors. After glancing out once more, Jet follows him.

****

Art in itself isn't new to Ghoul.

Doodling on everything from his spotless white trainers to spotless white classroom desks was one of his favourite city pastimes - though he'd feel the occasional twinge of regret later on as he scrubbed his chosen canvas clean under the watchful eyes of the authority figure present.

"I dunno shit about what you use, though," He admits, strolling along by Kobra's side, "Don't even know what half the kinds of paint are,"

Kobra thinks for a moment.

"Art's art, colour's colour," He says. "If you can make somethin' out of it that looks or feels like you've just chucked all your rage and passion or whatever the fuck else into the outside world - or even if it ain't deep and ya just like how it looks - well then, you've done yer job. Who cares what you used. Stick a fuckin', I dunno, bit of chewed up gum on a twig if ya really want,"  
He pokes the branch of a nearby tree as if to illustrate his point, "It's still art, and yer still expressin' something with it."

Ghoul considers this, and finds Kobra's words are reassuring. Like the feelings of himself and his circle of "unruly" friends back in the city have finally been put into words and spoken out loud which, up until now, probably would've gotten him into trouble. 

Kobra's advice opposes everything BLI preaches, and yet, it makes so much more sense to Ghoul.

Eventually, they stop by a small building. The vintage-style font on the projecting lilac sign simply reads:

'Art & Shit'

"Certainly gets straight to the point," Ghoul observes.

"This shop's got some sentimental value," Kobra leans against the brick exterior and pats it fondly, "Got a story. For me, at least," 

"Yeah?" Ghoul casts his eyes over the scratched mint green door. He doesn't doubt it; this place looks like it's got history.

"So, six years ago," Kobra begins.  
He sits down on the hot sand by the wall, and Ghoul joins him.  
"There's this kid. Loud as fuck, little shit'ead, freckles an' heterochromia, nose sticks up a bit," Kobra pushes the tip of his own nose, "Sound like anyone?" 

Of course it does. Ghoul nods, and Kobra continues,

"Anyway, so this little shit'ead kid - who's me - right, he's lived in England his whole life. Mum said it used to be called London, where we lived. And one day, my parents are like -"

"You've switched to first person," Ghoul interrupts.

Kobra swats his hand like it's irrelevant.

"Yeah, tellin' it like a proper story's tirin' as shit. I could never be an author, fuck that. _Anyway_, as I was sayin', one day my parents go, ''we're moving," and I'm like 'alright, cool.' And a few months later, we move. All the way to California."  
He pauses, scraping the toe of his shoe through the sand thoughtfully.  
"To this day, I still don't 'ave a clue where the decision came outta - never told me shit about anything. Not that I cared, the old place weren't any better than Battery. Bu' anyway, we move to Battery. Right on the outskirts, specifically that bit everyone likes to pretend doesn't exist."

Ghoul nods knowingly, but says nothing. This is _Kobra_'s time to tell a story.

"Long story short, there's some shit that 'appens - somethin' to do with my dad and some ex of his and some bullshit, I didn't know what was going on to be fair - and I'm like 'alright, i'm outta here,' and I, uh... run away. Far as my little shit'ead legs can take me. Well, with some help along the way, but yeah,"

There's a bitterness hidden under these words that Ghoul's not sure he's ever heard from Kobra. But it diminishes quickly, tucked away with a short sigh.

"End up here. Few days later, I'm hidin' out in this store," He touches the wall again, resting his hand there this time, "And this tall, curly-haired teenage dude comes in - wearin' a fuck ugly shirt," He snorts at the last detail, a soft smile on his face, "And he lets me follow 'im around, introduces me to his slightly scary friend with red hair, and uh... I've been following 'em both around ever since. And, yeah. Storytime over,"

Ghoul reflects on the first time they met. Specifically, how Kobra had convinced him to come back to the diner even though they'd been strangers to eachother at the time; whether intentionally or not, he'd done for Ghoul the favour that Jet had done for him years before.

"I can definitely see why this place's got sentimental value," Is all he can think to say, but his expression must speak louder than him, because Kobra pats his arm. Then he gets to his feet, brushing the sand from his paint-stained jeans, and says,

"It used to be called 'The Watercolour Shithole'. Never should've changed it, in my opinion,"

A little bell on the door greets the pair as they enter the shop.

"Hi, we're gonna paint a motorbike," Kobra announces proudly as Ghoul closes the door behind them.

"Oh, shiny. You got any colours in mind, kid?" The shop owner climbs off her powder blue step ladder to help Kobra out. She leads him to a shelf at the back and begins taking down cans of paint, explaining the pros and cons of each.

Ghoul's not sure what half the words mean - he can't tell which are to do with the paint and which are to do with the bike, honestly - so he decides to wander around the store himself.

To his left, there's a rack of hair dye. Tubs and boxes in all different shades, and each with names that don't sound much different to some of the names he's heard out here belonging to people; Acid Splash Green, Bubblegum Blush Pink. 

He briefly wonders what hair dye's doing in an art shop, but then he remembers what Kobra told him earlier. 

It's a tool for self-expression, and that's one of the main roles of art in the zones. 

There's a shelf of makeup on the wall behind him; vibrant lipsticks, luminous eyeshadow palettes, pots of glitter, and a whole bunch of other stuff to smear on your face.

People out here really do create art wherever they can; on their clothes, their cars, their own _bodies_. 

The thought brings a smile to Ghoul's face; you don't have to keep art a secret out here, and it comes with no punishment.

He's about to go and see what the rest of the store has to offer when a tub of hair dye catches his eye.

Maybe that's due to the shade: startling bright red. Or maybe it's the name printed on the label that grabs his attention:

"POISON RED".

Weird coincidence? He picks it up, looking for some sort of an explanation on the label. Damn. The Killjoys are famous, obviously, but... what kind of famous do you have to be to get a _hair dye_ named after you?

His answer comes in the form of Kobra's voice, and his instinctive reaction is to hastily return the tub to the rack. 

"That's the one Poison used to use, if I'm rememberin' right - think it was the first brand he ever used, actually. Well, it was the one 'e named himself after, at least,"

_Oh._

It's not that these dyes aren't a perfect source of inspiration for a sick name; they are. Ghoul had considered that earlier, in fact. He just wouldn't have expected something so, well... _straightforward_ from Poison.

"He's switched since, though," Kobra points to another dye of a different brand. It's a darker, deeper red, simply and fittingly named, "BLOOD SPILL".

_There has to be more to it,_ Ghoul thinks. 

He remembers the last time he and Poison fought.

He remembers how he'd told him how "_poisonous_" he was (on reflection, that was pretty clever; nice play on words there, past Ghoul) and how Poison had held eye contact and laughed right in his face.

_"Names out here come with their meanings,"_ He'd said.

That's gotta mean something. It _has_ to.

One one hand, Ghoul knows how Poison loves to be all enigmatic at times, which he's starting to strongly suspect is just for show. But on the other hand, he can't ignore his curiosity.

"You good there?" Kobra asks as they leave the store, the bell giving a little goodbye jingle.

"Oh yeah, yeah," Ghoul nods, returning to the moment, "I'm good." He clears his throat, "What colours did you get, then?"

He might never know the truth about Poison's name and its relation to the dye, and he may never know what Poison had truly meant that day - and none of it matters all that much, really - but hey, at least that's a conversation starter he can stash away for later.


	5. How to Find What You Didn't Know You Were Looking For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghoul experiences his first shopping trip in the zones.

"New boy says you two went for a nice little drive last night,"

Jet's lounging in a booth, head resting on Poison's leg, when he brings it up. Kobra and Ghoul returned from the art store not too long ago, and they're working on the bike outside.

"We did, yeah," Poison replies coolly. 

Elaborating no further, he glances out of the window. Ghoul's chatting to Kobra as he sprays a silver base coat onto the bike, and his eyes follow the can in Kobra's hand like he's captivated. 

It's the same look he'd had on his face when Poison showed him his sleeve in the car. That expression of absolute wonder, a bittersweet reminder of how much people in the city miss out on; all the little things that bring the colour to everyday life in the zones.

"Is Kobra using the right shade of silver?" Poison asks, tone remaining cool and casual, as if there's nothing else on his mind.

Jet can practically _hear_ his tiny smile as he speaks; oh, the fucker. He's playing that game where he isn't at all opposed to answering the question, but he'll dodge it for as long as he possibly can. Why? Because... well, because he's Poison, and Poison won't admit anything just like that.

Fine. 

Jet's just gonna play along until he gives in. It can be fun, in all fairness.

"I'm sure Kobra knows exactly what he's doing," He replies. "So... did you come across anything interesting last night? You know, on your _drive_?" 

Jet throws emphasis onto the last word and looks up to find Poison pursing his lips around a smile he can barely contain. He keeps his stare on the window, though, obviously searching for something else to comment on in an effort to evade Jet's question for a bit longer. 

But apparently he finds nothing, because he sighs, then very quietly says,

"Ok, fuck it. You two might've been right,"

Jet sits up and grins smugly. Success, and it didn't take long at all.

"Right about what exactly, Poison?" 

Poison looks down so his hair falls over his face and shakes his head,  
"You _know_, I don't gotta spell it out,"

Jet chuckles.  
"No I don't. Come on,"

Poison looks at him through his protective curtain of hair. The victory of being right shines in Jet's eyes - the gleeful and quite frankly deserved "told you so, you stubborn bastard," is on its way, he can feel it.

"Piss off," Poison groans, laughing and leaning back against the armrest with his face in his hands. "Alright," He sits up, "Alright. When it's just me and him, he's like... fun,"

"Well, it's in his name," Jet has to interject, visibly pleased with his own joke, warranting an eye roll from Poison. "Anyway, carry on,"

"I feel like he opened up more last night," Poison continues, "And he's actually just... cool. Like, easy to talk to - felt like talkin' to you and Kobra. But obviously I've know you for years and I've known _him_ like, five minutes, and..."

He pauses, and the reluctance to admit he was wrong is written all over him.

"You've known him five minutes, and...?" Jet coaxes, obviously gripped by this change of heart. From the look on his face alone, you'd think he was watching a critically acclaimed thriller. He's quite literally on the edge of his seat by now.

"I didn't really give him a chance for the first three," Poison swiftly turns to the window again, but Jet doesn't miss the little smile on his face; he decides to keep his "told you so," to himself.

Instead, he opts for watching Kobra paint the bike over Poison's shoulder. 

Someone else catches his eye, though; they're approaching the diner, rollerskates and a colourful buzzcut, the breeze whipping the thin fabric of their purple skirt around their ankles.

"Think you've got a visitor," Poison remarks, but Jet's already very aware. 

He hastily pulls his hair out of its bun, wincing a little as his tight curls catch on the hair tie, and wipes his face on the hem of his already sweaty tank top. 

"Shit, ok, I'm gonna go change this shirt real quick," He says, practically tripping over as he clambers out of the booth, "Do I go for the denim button-up that isn't actually denim but looks like it is, or the oil spill tank top? Both, layered?"

It's not like Pony's gonna care about what he's wearing, but Jet would prefer not to greet them in this state. Also, his top still holds a strong odour of dirt, oil and whatever else was on that bike.

"Not to rush ya, but you might wanna skip the shirt change and get out there as soon as possible," Poison replies, "Kobra's talking to them and he looks... amused,"

Jet's eyes widen; he swears under his breath and sprints out of the diner before Kobra has the chance embarrass him. He slows to a relaxed saunter as soon as he's outside, though, moving his shoulders a little as he does so.

It looks effortless, but everything about it is _so_ deliberate. 

Poison snorts as he watches him. 

Though Jet and Pony been seeing eachother for the past few months, they've put no official title on their relationship yet, and Jet often still gets a little shy before meeting them. It always goes smoothly in the end, though.

Jet not-so-subtly turns to the window halfway along and mouths,  
"Wish me luck!"

"You've got this," Poison mouths back.

****

Even as Jet appears, Kobra shows no sign of ending his highly animated conversation with Pony (it seems they haven't managed to get a word in since he started blabbering, but they smile and nod in a friendly way.)

Ghoul, on the other hand, takes this as an opportunity to go back indoors, wiping his forehead and dragging his feet through the sand. He looks up just in time to see Poison shoot him a smile from the window. He sends one back, then sticks his tongue out at him. Poison rolls his eyes.

"It's fucking sweltering out there," Ghoul gasps as he shuts the door behind him. The diner isn't _that_ much cooler, but it's still a relief.

"How's it lookin', then?" Poison asks as he joins him in the booth.

"The bike?" Ghoul slides right up to the window so they're opposite eachother and wipes a palm down his face, "It's cool, yeah. Very... silver, just done the base coat. Fuck, I'm so hot,"

"D'you want some water or somethin'?" Poison asks.

"That'd be sick, yeah," Ghoul says, pushing back his fringe since it's sticking to his forehead.

Poison gets up to retrieve the bottle of water that's been left on the counter. It's clearly already been opened, but there's plenty left in it.

Ghoul grabs it as soon as it's placed on the table, cracking off the lid and gulping down at least half of the contents. Then he wipes his mouth and pushes the bottle towards Poison. 

"Here,"

Poison looks at the bottle, then at Ghoul, then down at the bottle again, as if he's momentarily forgotten what to do with it. 

That, or he's pleasantly surprised.

"Oh... thanks, man," 

His voice confirms the latter.

"No problem," Ghoul leans back in the booth, eyes flitting over Poison as he takes sips from the bottle, "Don't get how you manage, wearing full black all the time,"

Poison puts the lid back on when he's finished and sets the water on the window sill.

"I'm dedicated," He replies, quiet pride in his voice.

Ghoul grins,  
"Yeah, I can tell," 

The only time he's seen Poison wearing anything other than black was the night he lent him his own jacket. As much as full black suits him - fits his spirit and reputation just right - he certainly didn't look bad in light denim. He _really_ didn't.

But then again, Ghoul quickly reminds himself, it was dark outside.

"You good?"

Ghoul almost jumps at the sound of Poison's voice.

"Oh... yeah, yeah," He splutters, "Just a feeling a little dazed. From the heat. The sun," He gestures to the window, "That,"

Poison seems to eye him up for a second, and Ghoul can tell he's doubtful, but all he says is,

"Fair. You seemed a little lost in thought is all,"

_Yeah, just a bit._

Ghoul swallows hard and quickly tries to shove away any and all thoughts relating to Poison and that denim jacket.

"On the topic of clothes, though," Ghoul suddenly remembers something that's crossed his mind on and off for the past few weeks, "I feel like I could do with a couple'a new shirts or some shit,"

He looks down at his stained yellow T-shirt and tattered jeans,

"Been living in these since I found them - they already looked a bit fucked up, but I wanted to get changed fast so I could go ahead and burn my old city clothes,"

He remembers the dancing, curling flames, his new found freedom in visual form, and a touch of the pride he'd felt watching them rises again. He laughs darkly.

Poison nods slowly, holding eye contact; it seems like he's just come to another silent conclusion about Ghoul. A good one, his expression says.

Toying with the small silver chain around his neck, the charm of which is hidden under his shirt, he says,  
"If you wanna go look for new shit, we could do that tomorrow. I'd say today, but I don't think we got much time left to drive over before sunset,"

Ghoul nods,  
"Sounds like a plan to me,"

But before they can discuss it any further, the door swings open.

"Got news, ya fuckers!" Kobra announces, slamming it behind him. 

"Oh, great, what is it?" Poison retorts.

Kobra clambers over the top of the booth Ghoul's sitting in and then falls into it with hissed profanity.

Ghoul laughs at the anticlimax of Kobra's entrance as he glances out of the window; Jet and Pony are still out, chatting by the trans am with fingers interlocked and Pony's head resting on Jet's arm.

"Pony's visiting Dr D tomorrow," Kobra answers, "They said he might even give 'em an hour on the waves, like a one-off segment on his show,"

"I hope Dr D's listeners like 80's goth and debates on scented candles," Poison says.

"But here's the big thing, right," Kobra continues, "They've invited Jet to hang out, and I managed to convince them to let me come as well. They said no more than us, two, though - really sorry 'bout that," Kobra sounds genuinely apologetic, despite his own excitement.

"No worries," Poison waves his hand, "Ghoul an' I have plans for tomorrow anyway,"

He glances at Ghoul.

"I'm getting new shit, hopefully," Ghoul confirms.

"Oh, cool!" There's pleasant surprise in Kobra's voice, "That's really great to hear,"

Ghoul's not sure which part Kobra meant there; the fact he's getting new shit, or the fact he's hanging out with Poison again. 

In all honesty, though, he's a little excited about both himself.

****

Kobra and Jet get ready to leave the next morning, both equally eager to see Pony again, though Kobra's the most vocal about it. 

Jet, on the other hand, stands in front of the bathroom mirror for at least an hour and a half, styling his hair then changing his mind and styling it differently, applying bright eye makeup and shimmering highlight then wiping it off and swapping it for a less bold look, before deciding he'd had the right idea to begin with and returning to bright colours and glitter.

He's finally ready after two-and-a-half outfit changes, much to Kobra's relief. 

The walk from the diner to WKIL isn't a long one, and it's early enough that it's cooler; the perfect temperature for a short journey on foot.

_Meaning we've got the car_, Ghoul thinks with a twinge of excitement. Man, he loves a good drive. He loves that old trans am, too - it's beginning to feel like home to him, almost. Just like the diner is.

Ghoul's ready to go, of course - it's not like he has another outfit to change into yet. He just sits and unties and re-ties his laces and picks at the frayed knees of his jeans to pass time while he waits for Poison to emerge from his room. 

Moments later, he does. 

He's in that plain black tank top again, the one Ghoul's so familiar with, hair spilling over partially exposed shoulders.

"You ready, then?" He asks.

Ghoul nods.  
"I was ready the second I got up and put my shoes back on, pretty much,"

"I didn't keep you waitin' too long, did I?"

Poison doesn't drop his laid-back tone, but Ghoul senses a touch of concern behind the words, and immediately feels the need to reassure him.

"Nah, course not. And besides," He adds with a grin, "You didn't take half as long as Jet," 

Poison laughs and shakes his head, taking that signature leather jacket of his down from the rack of hooks mounted on the wall,

"Yeah. He always takes a couple years to get ready if Pony's involved,"

Ghoul watches him as he slips the jacket on and tugs his hair free from underneath it.

"I know you're dedicated to the look and all that," He says, "But how the actual fuck can you wear that during the day?"

It's impressive, albeit the fact Ghoul can practically feel his own skin boil just _looking_ at him. 

Poison answers the question by walking over, pulling the jacket off, and dropping it on the table right in front of Ghoul.

"I pretty much always end up takin' it off anyway, but it ain't too bad. Try it on, you'll get it,"

Ghoul blinks in surprise, then nods and picks it up.  
He stands up to avoid having to squirm his way into the jacket in his small space between the booth and table, which would not only be physically awkward for him, but likely also visually awkward for Poison. 

The jacket's far thinner than he expected, and the lining is cool, so that provides his answer. Ghoul catches a sharp scent as he tugs it on - one that seems to follow Poison. 

It's a bit of a tight fit on him, but not too uncomfortable otherwise. He adjusts the collar, smoothing down the lapels, then twists his torso a little to get a better look at it.

"I'm kinda feeling this, not gonna lie," He remarks, flashing Poison a smile, "What d'you think?" 

For a good few seconds, Poison says absolutely nothing. 

He just stands there in front of Ghoul, lips slightly parted as if he _had_ words, but they've evaporated right off his tongue. Then he clears his throat and gives a cool nod.

"I think..." He bites his lip in thought, and his eyes flicker over the jacket again,  
"If we find one at some point today, you should, like... consider it. Anyway, on that note, d'you wanna head off now?"

As he turns towards the front door, Poison brings his hair forward to frame his face, or... cover it, it seems. 

It's Ghoul's turn to fall speechless now. 

He feels hot suddenly, like he's standing directly in the sun, and he's not sure that the jacket is the only contributing factor. Trying his best to ignore his own burning cheeks and the smile on his lips that he can't control, he follows Poison out onto the sand.

****

The engine starts, and the jacket's on Poison's shoulders once again. 

Since leaving the diner, very few words have been exchanged between the pair. It's not the kind of quiet which suggests neither of them wants to speak, though. No, it's the kind that implies neither of them can think what to say.

Luckily for Ghoul, he'd pocketed a perfect conversation starter the day before. It comes to mind again right now, as if this very moment was made for it.

Watching contorted cacti, rusty cars with deflated tyres, and the occasional rowdy pair or group in DIY clothing flash by on the roadside, he brings to the surface what he's been needlessly contemplating.

"Kobra and I went to the store yesterday," He begins with the obvious, because he's not sure how else to introduce the matter.

"Oh yeah, that art one he practically lives in," Poison replies.

"Yeah, that's the one. 'Art & Shit', or something to that effect - great name," 

"Very creative. I'd never guess what they sold," 

Ghoul chuckles at Poison's sarcasm and adds,

"Fucking genius, bet it took them hours to think that one up. But yeah, I was looking at the hair dye. Don't think I've ever seen so many colours on one shelf,"

Poison throws him a fleeting glance before returning his eyes to the road ahead.

"You thinkin' of dyeing yours, then?"

"Dunno if I'd wanna bleach it and all that, at least for now," Ghoul pushes his fingers through his hair, "And I'm pretty into my natural black, y'know?"

Poison nods as Ghoul continues,

"But while I was looking at the dyes, I came across a certain shade of red,"

"Poison Red?" 

Ghoul turns to see Poison grinning.

"So... is that the story behind the name?" He asks.

"Could be... a piece of it," Poison's smile switches to mysterious, as if daring Ghoul to decipher it.

"How many pieces are there?" 

Poison thinks for a second. Then he replies,  
"How about you tell me about yours first? Well I mean, only if you wanna,"

He's really got a habit of answering other people's questions with questions of his own.

Ghoul shrugs.

"Ain't much to it at all," He starts, "But back in the city, I was kinda notorious on my street. Not me alone," He adds quickly, not wanting to sound too cocky, "Me and my friends, and the guy I was sorta dating at the time. Man, we were a bunch of assholes. Took pride in it,"

"Not much has changed there, then," Poison teases, smirking at the horizon.

"Fuck you," Ghoul laughs, lightly hitting his seat.  
"You're right, but fuck you. But anyway, we broke every rule we could just about get away with. Stayed out past curfew, never shut our fucking mouths. Got real good at keeping secrets, tell you that. And I remember one of our old neighbours, she used to call us "ghouls". Loud fucking monsters haunting the streets, apparently," Ghoul laughs at the thought,  
"But we never saw it that way, 'cause like, it wasn't. We were having fun, y'know?" 

He gives Poison a smile, letting him put it together from there.

"I like that," Poison says. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think it's pretty fuckin' powerful,"

"Thanks," Ghoul chuckles. He's never really thought of it as powerful, but Poison says it with such sincerity that it almost convinces him. 

A thoughtful silence falls between them; Poison breaks it right as Ghoul looks over at him.

"I chose that box of dye for its name more than the shade itself, y'know. It was like... what I wanted people to feel when they looked at me,"

"Is that what you meant that day, then?" Ghoul asks.

"You're gonna have to be more specific there," Poison smirks.

"The day we had that fight," He clarifies; he probably should've considered that Poison hasn't been thinking over it repeatedly like he has.

"The car one, or the lampshade one?"

Ghoul lets out a heavy sigh that trails off into giggles, through which he sheepishly mutters, 

"Lampshade one. You said some shit about names having meanings,"

Poison considers the question again.Then he gives Ghoul a reply which _absolutely_ clears everything up:

"Maybe that _was_ what I meant,"

_Should'a seen that one coming,_ Ghoul thinks. 

"You gonna be this cryptic forever, huh?" He jabs Poison's arm, watching him purse his lips hard around a smile, as if trying to not to let it take over. Must take effort, because his cheeks are a little flushed.

"Yes," Poison says eventually. The smile escapes for a second, and he tugs his lip between his teeth as if to tuck it away.

"Alright," Ghoul says coolly, turning back to the window, "I mean, it keeps things entertaining,"

He glances subtly back at Poison, and apparently this glance was timed just right. Because he gets to witness his mask of almost comically cryptic arrogance shatter.

"Ok," Poison sighs, making no effort to contain his smile this time, "You want me to be honest?"

"Go on,"

Poison clears his throat and looks hard at the road, as if it makes it easier.

"It kinda just... look, I..." His voice drops significantly in volume now as he makes his confession, "It felt like a clever thing to say at the time,"

Though Ghoul's slightly surprised, he's not disappointed. Quite the opposite, in fact. If anything... he's somehow more intrigued. 

Not about the name, but about its owner.

Poison's cheeks almost match his hair now, though, so Ghoul decides to save him some embarrassment by spilling a bit of honesty himself.

"Listen, I felt so fucking clever when I called you "poisonous," so I think we were on the same wavelength,' He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Man, that was genuinely the best play on words I've ever come up with on the spot,"

"Fuck, we really are a lot more similar than we thought," Poison says. Then they make eye contact for approximately one second and both errupt into giggles.

Ghoul straightens up in his seat and looks out of the windscreen; though he hasn't been paying much attention to the world outside the car on this journey, he now finds he doesn't recognise their surroundings. Which means they're probably closer to their destination than their starting point, but it feels like they've barely driven ten minutes.

"Where are we actually going?" He asks - oddly enough, this question hasn't come to mind until now.

"Depends," Poison throws Ghoul a sidelong glance, "What's the plan?"

"Thought _you_ were the one who made the plans around here,"  
With a sly smile, he turns to catch Poison's expression. As expected, he's looking a little smug at having his leadership recognised. 

Ghoul chuckles to himself and turns back to the window.

Poison arches a brow.

"Well, Fun Ghoul, maybe I don't wanna make the plans today," He retorts smoothly. 

Ghoul realises that, up until now, he's never heard Poison say his full name before, and this throws his train of thoughts clean off its track for a second. He manages to catch it quickly enough for him to carry on teasing Poison, though.

"Does that make me leader for the day, then?" 

"Watch it, you," Poison warns, "There's more to leading the Killjoys than making plans and looking good in a biker jacket, y'know,'

And at that, Ghoul nearly chokes on his own breath. For a second, he wonders if he's heard wrong, but something about the tiny smirk gracing Poison's face tells him otherwise.

"I've ticked the first two boxes, then?" He grins hard, looking down at his hands in his lap and focusing his attention on his jeans and scabbed knuckles in the hopes it'll slow his pulse.

"How am I supposed to know whether or not you can make plans if you haven't even told me this one yet?" Poison replies.

Ghoul's lucky the window right next to him is closed, because if it were open, he'd probably end up taking in a mouthful of dust with the way he's gaping. He's not quite sure how to respond, but eventually settles for:

"Somewhere we can find, like... a shirt. That'd be a good plan,"

"We ain't too far from a market, actually," Poison says, "Or at least, it was here a couple weeks ago. Some weeks it's here, some it ain't,"

"Guess we'll find out," Ghoul muses, now keeping an eye out for any market stalls, though that's far from the only thing on his mind right now.

Fortunately, they've come on the right week.

As Poison pulls over on the roadside, Ghoul's face lights up with recognition.

"Wait, I've been here before!"

"Yeah?" Poison peels off his jacket and slings it over his arm. The one without the tattoo sleeve, that is - wouldn't want a jacket hiding that, especially since he's in a tank top today. Ghoul's gathered he likes showing it off.

"Yeah. Got in a fight nearby about a month ago. Earned myself one hell of a black eye,"  
Ghoul grins smugly at the memory as the two of them leave the car and start walking towards the market.

"I remember you having a kinda faded black eye one time, actually," Poison says, "I was like 'damn, I didn't give him that one',"

Ghoul laughs.

"You may have been my first and most... reoccuring rival in the zones up until now," He says, "But you definitely haven't been the only one,"

Poison lifts his chin proudly,  
"I'm undeniably the best of them, though,"

"Well," Ghoul smiles, "You're the only one I kinda like now,"

"Y'know, sometimes you say things that are really quite... touching," Poison replies, "And it makes me sorta glad I didn't kick you out,"

"Damn," Ghoul chuckles, shaking his head, "Thanks, man. Really feeling the appreciation,"

But as they enter the market and turn their eyes away from eachother, no amount of light-hearted sarcasm from either side can mask the way their expressions soften.

As they pass by various stalls offering everything from handmade jewelry to vinyls and casettes - some of which appear so old they may well have been saved from as far back as before the Helium Wars - strangers put their chatting and bartering on hold to turn and stare. 

This is part of Ghoul's life now, he realises that. He's a Killjoy. Since he's joined three of the most famous figures throughout both the desert and the city, he's faintly aware that, sooner rather than later, it'll be difficult to keep anonymous in any public place.  
But as wide eyes and whispers follow the pair, he can't help but feel self conscious. 

And he senses that he's not alone in this; Poison's adopted that stiff, silently authoritative stance again. Head high, eyes stone cold. It works, for sure; people practically stumble backwards to let him pass, but continue to stare as if they can't believe he's real.

Ghoul moves a little nearer to his side. There's a sense of security in being close to him right now. 

A few steps later, something catches Ghoul's eye.

"Hey," He touches Poison's arm to get his attention, "Look at that,"

Poison follows his gaze to what's hanging from the top of one of the stalls.

"The mask?"

"Kinda sick, don't you think?"

The rubber mask may well have once been part of a zombie costume, and the style is a perfect balance between cartoonish and realistic.

"It's creepy as shit," Poison replies. Then he gives a little, fleeting smile of approval; just enough that Ghoul sees it, but no one else gets the chance. 

As Ghoul makes a beeline for the mask, though, something else on the stall grabs his attention; a green and black striped T-shirt.

"I found a shirt, too!" He announces as Poison catches up with him, grinning wide. It seems his grin's so contagious that Poison momentarily forgets his own solemn public facial expression.

The pink-haired stall owner with safety pins for earrings informs Ghoul that it's buy one get one free - well, the mask's free because "it's been sitting there for five days and no one fuckin' wants the damn thing, please take it." 

Three carbons for the shirt is decent, too - Ghoul can afford it with the bit of cash he's still got saved in his pocket from doing little jobs here and there in the past few months. It's been a while since the last time he helped change someone's tyre for a few carbons, though.

The pair wander between stalls for a while longer, aimlessly browsing. Poison pauses to look at a rack of band shirts with mostly unreadable logos, as if whoever designed the merch purposely chose the fonts that best resembled scribbles and paint splatters. 

"We should stop by WKIL on the way back," He remarks as he pauses to look at a shirt with a rather gory image printed on the front and what's presumably tour dates on the back, "So you can sneak in with that mask on and scare the fuck outta Jet and Kobra,"

"Now that's a plan," Ghoul agrees. He holds the mask up to look at it, "I wanna try it on now,"

He pulls the mask over his head, but gets a little stuck on the way down. As he does so, he hears Poison laugh, but he can't see him, because the eye holes are somewhere on his forehead.

"You've got it all folded, man," 

"You gonna help or just laugh at me?" Ghoul can't help but chuckle despite his struggle.

"Here," Poison reaches forward and tugs Ghoul's mask down. Ghoul feels the backs of his fingers graze his cheeks, then the eye holes are tugged into place and he can see.

And this, technically, is the public's first glimpse of Fun Ghoul as... well, as Fun Ghoul.

Soon enough, that mask will become the very first image to spring into the mind of anyone who happens to hear the name, or read it on a wanted poster tacked onto a sign post. That mask's going to be associated more strongly with that name than the actual photo printed above those words on the poster, of a displeased 18-year-old with hair too tidy for his own liking; his final school photo, taken just months before he fled to the desert and began a life of his own.

But for now, it's just a mask. 

"This fucking stinks of rubber," Ghoul remarks, "But hey! I'm undead now,"

"I reckon you could scare dracs in that one," 

Poison's one of the very few people Ghoul's met who doesn't lower his voice to say the word "dracs" in public, or use a code word, as if in fear of summoning them or alerting a group hiding nearby.  
He reckons that's part of the whole "I fear no one and nothing... in fact, _I'm_ what should be feared" image he's got going on.

As the sun beats down, Poison slides a hair tie off his wrist and gathers his hair into a ponytail. Sunlight catches on the strands left loose around his face, framing his sharp features with a slightly brighter than usual red glow, and glints on the tiny silver hoops he's wearing - a pair in one ear lobe, a single hoop in the other.

Though Ghoul's no artist, he reckons Poison right at this moment would be a good subject for a painting or some shit. Then he realises he's staring at him through the eyeholes of this rubber zombie face, and snaps himself out of it.

"I think we've seen it all by now, pretty much," Poison says, looking around, "There anything else you wanna look at here?" 

"Nah, think we've covered it," Ghoul replies, "But I reckon we've probably still got time before Jet and Kobra are done,"

****

They occupy this time with what they've figured is their current favourite shared activity: going for a drive to nowhere in particular with radio turned up and the windows down.

"You wanna pick the station this time?"

"Sure, but how does it work?"

"You sorta twist the thing around," Poison says, gesturing to the dial.

Ghoul nods and begins fiddling around with it; the sounds of static are punctuated by bursts of music, and eventually a familiar guitar riff grabs his attention.

"Aw, fuck yeah," He grins, leaning back to enjoy his window view as upbeat punk rock fills the car.

That's when the realisation hits him again - the realisation of how fucking good he feels. 

"Hey, Poison?"

"Yeah?" 

"Just... like, not to sound overly sappy and shit, but..." Ghoul swallows to stop his voice from cracking, because he can feel it coming on, "This is genuinely the happiest I've ever been, I think. Like, I just... I dunno, it's hard to put into words, but since I've been with you guys everything's just felt a little.... brighter. I dunno,"

Poison doesn't respond at first - just nods and smiles softly like he's deep in thought. Then he swallows hard and says, still looking ahead as he taps gently on the steering wheel,

"I wish I'd asked you to join sooner," 

Ghoul has to stop and think of a response that isn't "aww," even though that's the exact feeling Poison's words evoke. And preferably a response that also isn't "fuck, I _really_ don't hate you anymore," which is the _second_ feeling. So instead, he goes for,

"It felt like the right time, y'know? Not too early or too late,"

"Yeah," Poison agrees, "Often you've just gotta rely on how time decides,"

"Exactly," Ghoul throws him another smile. "You made it sound way more poetic than me, though,"

_But then again, he could make most things sound poetic,_ Ghoul thinks. 

He likes the way Poison talks.

A breeze whips through the open windows and the tyres kick up dust as they speed down an otherwise empty road - Poison seems to know the spots where no one else goes. 

The new mask sits in the backseat on top of Poison's jacket, and Ghoul glances over at it every so often - his pride only grows with every look. Of course, he was a Killjoy before he found it, but now he's got a mask of his own to solidify that fact in his mind.

And he doesn't know it yet, but in a couple of weeks, that mask is going to be put to very important use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes for this one:  
\- ok so i know that canonically WKIL is like. attached to the diner but i've been writing it as a separate building for so many years that that's basically part of my canon and i find it hard to imagine any other way while i'm writing lmao
> 
> \- this chapter's one of the shorter ones so far HOWEVER i'm very excited for chapter 6... action time
> 
> \- thank u for reading🥺🖤🖤

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!! leave ur comments below if u wish, and u can reach me on tumblr:  
main: scrapmetalkid  
danger days blog: neon-rat
> 
> \- Soph xo


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